


Catch Me If You Can

by HereWeGo (rebekahdarian)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Angst, Assumptions are made, Happy Ending, Human!Stiles, Humans Are Protected, Hurt!Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, I Took Liberties With Omegas and Feral Wolves, Kidnapped Stiles Stilinski, Lawyer!Peter, M/M, Memory Alteration, Minor Character Death, No Hale Fire, Off screen but mentioned loss of a child, Past Abuse, Sick Character, Slow Burn, Stiles Stilinski Has Nightmares, Stiles Stilinski Has Panic Attacks, Thief Stiles Stilinski, Wolf Society AU, a/b/o kinda, for multiple characters, pack bonds, runnaway!stiles, scarred!Stiles, tags have spoilers, temporarily, they are wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:16:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 71,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22411630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebekahdarian/pseuds/HereWeGo
Summary: Jordan sighed. “He’s also not talking.”Wolves don’t materialize out of thin air, Chris frowned. He was sure the officers who worked for Beacon Hills meant well, but he was willing to bet anything they tried to speak to the kid in the interrogation room after his key card stunt, and he didn’t know anyone who would talk freely in that room.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Chris Argent/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Talia Hale/Papa Hale
Comments: 307
Kudos: 1848





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody!! 
> 
> Welcome to my stream of consciousness fic!! My posting schedule is as follows: I will post a chapter after I finish typing the chapter Following it. I'm only off two days a week, and I'm more than likely only going to write and type on my days off, so if it takes me three days to write and type one chapter that means that one will be a two week wait for an update. Hopefully I'll be able to keep up this one a week pace I'm at now :)
> 
> There will be several warnings for this fic!!!!!! I will do my best to tag them and warn in the chapters but if I miss one let me know and I'll go back and fix it. 
> 
> **** Warnings in the bottom notes for this chapter****
> 
> Although Chris does explain this in the story, I will also explain up here just in case It's not clear in the fic.
> 
> Omegas are wolves who have lost all the bonds they have to other wolves. Wolves use this bond to draw power from each other and their pack, being able to shift, have heightened sense and flashing their eyes. They are basically human once they turn into an Omega status, and just as vulnerable.
> 
> Feral wolves still have ties to their pack and can do everything wolves can do, but something traumatic happened and they aren't grounded anymore. Without an anchor to ground them, they're out of control with their wolf. 
> 
> The majority of 'wolves in this fic are Betas though there are also Alphas, which are different than Pack Alphas. Pack Alpha wounds are slow to heal, while when Regular Alphas inflict wounds, they heal right away. 
> 
> Anyways, hope I covered everything important that may have questions, if not, lemme know. This is not betta'd any and all mistakes and inconsistencies are my own.

Chris’s phone rang around seven, just as he and Peter finished eating dinner. 

Peter lifted an eyebrow curiously and rose to clear the table. “Work?”

Chris nodded and swiped his thumb across the screen of his phone, a small frown creasing his forehead. “Argent.” It was too late to receive any non-emergent work related calls, and Isaac had settled in nicely at the pack house so it was unlikely anything to do with him. He leaned back to allow Peter more room to grab the dish from in front of him.

“Hey Chris, it’s Jordan.” There was a soft rustle of paper and the click of a door shutting.

Peter turned and placed the dishes in the sink, Chris could see the side of his face as he busied himself with the dishes, giving Chris the illusion of privacy while still listening to what was being said. If anyone else had tried to do that Chris would have snapped at them to quit eavesdropping but Peter was his partner in crime, and a lawyer who’d come to his rescue more than once. Besides, anything Jordan told him he was most likely going to tell Peter anyway.

“What’s going on?” Chris prompted when only Jordan’s muttered curses came through the line. 

Isaac had been out of his and Peter’s house for three days now, and if Jordan’s hesitance was anything to go by, he was about to be given another assignment.

Peter’s shoulders hunched just slightly as he turned the water on and began rinsing the dishes. 

“Well, uh.” 

Chris placed his head into his free hand, thumb and forefinger digging into his forehead. “You found someone else?”

“He was picked up outside of San Francisco,” Jordan said in a rush.

Chris let out a long breath, wincing when a dish made solid contact with the side of the sink.

“He stole cash from a gas station and was trying to catch a Greyhound bus with plans to go to New York. The local unit caught him down the street at the bus station.”

“Is he Feral or Omega?” Chris frowned, staring at the woodgrain of the table. An Omega would possibly still have the reasoning skills, but not the power or strength, to rob a place. However, a Feral wolf would have the power but no reasoning.

“Omega?”

Chris’s brows shot up, hand halting its ministrations. “You don’t know?”

“Look,” Jordan sounded exhausted, “he’s been here at the station for an hour, he pickpocketed one of the trainees within the first thirty minutes. His eyes don’t flash, he has bruising along his neck, but he smells like _wolf_ , which would mean he’s without pack ties. An Omega’s my best guess. But since I don’t know if he’s on the verge of being Feral, I don’t want him to hurt himself or someone else so I have him in an interrogation room right now, which is the safest place I can think of.”

“Any Feral wolf should be reunited with their pack, the bonds help ground them again.” 

“I know that,” Jordan sighed. “I was just hoping you could come talk to him and see if you can make a determination. Maybe he has pack in New York?” His tone turned hopeful for a split second. “But he hasn’t said a damned word to anyone here and he refuses to cooperate. If he’s heading in the direction of Feral, I will help him get to New York if that’s where his pack is- I will personally buy him a ticket! But if he’s slowly dying because he lost his pack and has no one else to turn to, I would like to say I tried before turning him away.”

Chris tapped his fingers against his head, the selfish side of him was glad to finally have the house to himself and Peter again. But if Jordan was right, this guy needed help either way. And sending an Omega away would be an almost certain death wish for them. He glanced up at Peter but the man was focused on scrubbing the last of the spaghetti sauce off a place.

“I’ll come by the station and meet him.”

“Thank you.” Jordan hung up the phone.

“We’re getting another?” Peter asked, like he hadn’t just heard the whole conversation.

Chris dropped his hands to the table. “It sounds like it. I’m going to meet him. Who knows, maybe he’ll just need a plane ticket.” He tried to smile but ended up wincing. This didn’t sound like a Feral case. 

Peter turned around and leveled him a look, setting the towel he’d been using to dry the dishes on the counter. “He can’t flash his eyes.”

“Or he refused to flash them.” 

“Bruising?” 

“Pack Alpha wound.”

Peter pressed his lips together, he didn’t believe either of those suggestions. Which was fair, Chris wasn’t entirely sure he believed them either.

He rose from the chair and stepped across the kitchen to stand in front of Peter.

Peter tilted his head down, burying his nose in the crook of Chris’ neck and breathing in his scent.

He wound his arms around Peters waist and tugged them closer. The warmth from their bodies and Peters familiar scent made his tired muscles relax. 

Peters hands trailed up his back, the pads of his fingers working into Chris’ muscles, releasing knots Chris didn’t realize he had.

A low hum of pleasure rose from his throat, Peter grinned against his neck, dull human teeth scraping along his flesh. Lips brushed against his jaw and Chris turned into the kiss, capturing Peters mouth with his in a clash of teeth and tongue.

Chris stepped forward, crushing their bodies together and releasing Peters waist to grip the counter behind him, pinning him against it.

Peter growled, biting Chris’ bottom lip and tugging, his hands slid down his back, coming to rest on Chris’ hips.

Chris rolled his hips forward, eliciting a moan from both of them.

Finally, Chris pulled back, his bottom lip red and swollen, a pleased smile spread across his face when he saw Peters’ chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes half lidded with _want_.

“I’m going to meet this person,” Chris said softly. 

Peters expression didn’t change but Chris could smell the disappointment wafting off his mate. 

He closed the distance between them again, gently brushing his lips across Peters, he pulled back before Peter could deepen the action. “And when I get back,” Chris said, “you’re all mine.”

Peters gaze darkened and he smiled. “I have a court case early tomorrow morning.”

“We’ll figure something out so you’re not exhausted.” Chris kissed his check, then stepped back, snatching his keys off the counter. Who knows, maybe this guy did just need to get back to his pack. His stomach twisted guiltily and the softer voice in his head pipped up-- or maybe they actually need help.

Chris could feel Peter watching him from the kitchen as he stuffed his wallet in his back pocket and reached for the door. 

“Love you.”

Chris turned, catching Peters gaze as he stepped out the door. “Love you, too. I’ll be back soon.”

With the two dynamics among wolves, Alphas and Betas, Omegas weren’t really a dynamic at all, it was a status. Omegas were rare, always a concern, and anyone could become one. In theory. 

He pulled the door behind him, muttering at the bitter cold air as he hurried to his car.

Feral wolves were tended to by their pack, typically injured and driven to the point of reacting on fight or flight instinct, they still had bonds to their pack which allowed them to still be able to shift and have sharpened senses.

Omega wolves were almost the opposite, they’d lost their pack and the bonds that grounded them to their wolves abilities. With nothing to ground them, no strength of the pack to pull from, it was usually their ability to shift that went first, followed by heightened senses, then the ability to heal quickly, and finally, they would no longer be able to flash their eyes.

Omegas were reduced to basically being human, vulnerable and weak, they never lived long. Killed by disease or a simple accident, sometimes they were too hurt or jaded to form bonds again. Chris had lost a couple that way.

While Feral wolves could sense the safety and comfort offered to them. Omegas were distrustful and unable to sense when someone meant them no harm. Which made it more complicated to help them. 

Trust was the first thing Chris needed to build if he had any hope of helping them at all. With trust came a small bond and at least that would offer them something.

Chris turned the car onto Main St, easing into the tail end of rush traffic.

It was hard to take all bonds from a wolf and make them go into Omega status. Aside from immediate pack, there was almost always extended pack and family, even friends or neighbors, anyone capable of empathy would usually offer some support to someone hurting. And wolves had to hurt for a long time to start losing themselves. 

He drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel.

Isaac had been a particularly rough case, isolated and raised by an abusive father, a neighboring pack killed the man when he challenged them over where he thought their lands bordered. 

Though frowned upon in modern society, there was nothing in law to state that challenges could no longer be finished by death. 

Even Peter, upon hearing the case, said it would be difficult to make a conviction and that all the other pack had to do to avoid a sentence was say they were fearful for their lives.

In all the commotion, no one had known about the pup in the freezer back at the Lahey house. 

It was the worst case he’d ever worked, it’d taken Isaac months to finally begin to trust Peter and even longer to trust Chris. After four years Isaac was now settled in with Scott, Erica, Boyd, Lydia, and Jackson at the extended pack house. It was great, he was finally happy and everyone got along well, even with Talia’s terrors— or children as she liked to call them.

He pulled into the stations parking lot a half hour later cursing every redlight between here and his house. He got out, slamming the door a little to hard. He was ready to meet this person Jordan had been talking about. 

It was never fun diagnosing, for lack of a better word, but it also wasn’t fun sitting in an interrogation room not knowing when you were going to be let out. He knew that first hand.

He crossed the lot and pushed the glass door open, he took a moment to just breathe in the familiar scent. 

In blunt honestly, the station _stunk_. Fear, anxiety, and stale sweat had permanently saturated the cheap chairs and linoleum floors, but as _ick_ as the smell as, it was still familiar.

A dark haired officer looked up from behind the front desk as he approached. Her gaze narrowed, and her nostrils flared scenting him warily. Her fingers twitched against the desk and Chris couldn’t help but wonder if she was the one the person pickpocketed. She was certainly anxious enough to be. 

“Can I help you?” she asked stiffly.

Chris opened his mouth to ask for Jordan when a familiar blond head appeared from one of the offices. 

Jordan smiled in relief, motioning for Chris to come into the room. “Thank you, Tara. Chris, in here please.”

Chris stepped around the counter and the officer, her scent flickered rapidly between confusion and curiosity as she watched him disappear into the room.

Jordan shut the door tightly behind him.

The office looked almost the same as the last time Chris had been in it.

Two faux leather armchairs faced an oversized desk that appeared to have more knicknacks than work on it. 

Chris knew better though. 

He sat in one of the chairs and waited for Jordan to take his seat behind the desk.

Each of the items on the desk represented a case, either current or as a reminder. Whether it was the literal shape--Chris’ eyes landed on the Barbie Dream Kitchen freezer--or a scent--a cheap air freshener that once hung around the rearview mirror of a car, or the black Subaru Outback Hot Wheels next to it that was the same make and model of car they were still looking for. Each meant something. 

Jordan sat down, his own eyes dragged across his desk. When asked, he said they kept him motivated and going when things looked grim. The wrinkles on his forehead seemed to get deeper with each item he saw and Chris couldn’t help but wonder if it was the guilt of a crime being unsolved that kept him going. 

Chris stretched his legs out in front of him, waiting for Jordan to pull himself from his thoughts. 

After several long moments, Chris gently cleared his throat and prompted, “So, this person, he can’t flash his eyes but managed to steal from someone?” The ‘from a wolf’ was implied, there wasn’t much of any other supernatural left nowadays and humans had been virtually extinct for years.

It seemed a bit of a stretch for someone to be able to trick another weres senses if they didn’t have some ability of their own, which meant that whoever this was could have pack bonds. And that was a good start, that would mean they weren’t an Omega yet. 

Jordan adjusted a couple of stray papers, corralling them into an accordion file. “He didn’t steal like you’re probably thinking. He didn’t go in and demand money, or even threaten the worker. He paid for a couple candy bars with a large bill and kept up a pleasant conversation while the cashier counted change.” He took a deep breath. “They didn’t count it back to him because they were focused on the conversation. The kid asked for directions to the bus station and when the cashier turned to indicate up the road, he swapped a larger bill for a smaller one he had had in his pocket.” Jordan ran his hand over his face. “Cashier didn’t even notice, just assumed they’d made a mistake in counting the change and gave him the ‘correct’ amount.”

“He conned the cahier,” Chris noted. “They didn’t smell deceit? No adrenaline or irregular heart beat?”

Jordan laid his hands flat on the desk. “Nothing. Claimed him ‘smelled normal’. An off duty officer was behind him in line and witnessed the whole transaction, then he called their local PD. The kid didn’t even know he was behind him. They were going to let him off with a warning when they noticed the signs.”

Chris nodded. Officers were trained to look for signs of a wolf slipping into Omega or Feral status. It was common practice to take them into custody either way to make sure they received the care they needed. Either being returned to their pack, or given to people like Chris who were certified to help them.

“I assume you haven’t formally tested him since he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, flash his eyes?” Chris asked gently, trying not to come across like he was accusing Jordan of not doing his job.

Jordan shook his head. “He was scared to begin with, then after he snatched Tara’s badge and ran-- he made it to the lobby.” Chris hummed in surprised, and Jordan continued. “I figured it was best to keep him somewhere he can’t pick the locks.”

“Has he picked locks?” Chris asked, his curiosity peaked. That was a dying skill, most wolves opted to just break the things.

“Not here.” Jordan shook his head. “But SFPD lost him briefly, too.”

“Jesus,” Chris breathed. 

Jordan nodded. “Like I said, I’m not sure what he is, or where he’s going. Something’s not right and I need your opinion.”

“Did he have any ID on him? It could be possible to trace back to a pack, even if it’s fake.”

“No, and nothing came back on the fingerprints we ran, he doesn’t match any missing persons reports in the last eight years, everything before that was done on paper and he’s doesn’t match any one of the folders in San Francisco.” Jordan sighed. “He’s also not talking.”

Wolves don’t materialize out of thin air, Chris frowned. He was sure the officers who worked for Beacon Hills all meant well, but he was willing to bet anything they tried to speak to the kid in the interrogation room after his key card stunt, and he didn’t know anyone who would talk freely in that room. Maybe he could get him to talk.

“You ready to meet him?” Jordan asked,most likely sensing his anticipation.

“Of course.” Chris stood. He might be bringing this person home tonight. Peter would initially be disappointed, but he would understand, and most likely he’d end up taking the kid’s case if there was abuse or neglect involved like he’d done for Isaac. 

He followed Jordan from the office, they walked around a corner and down a long hall. 

Thick glass windows lined the walls on either side. Those in the rooms couldn’t see into the hall, but those observing could see in. 

The first four rooms were empty, the fifth, however, had a figure sitting in a rickety chair, hunched over the table. 

The young man had his elbows on the table, long fingers tangled in his hair as he stared blankly at the stainless steel surface. 

Chris couldn’t see his face very well, but he could smell his stress. He frowned, that was new. He paused, throwing a quick glance at Jordan, he shouldn’t be able to smell the kid through the glass.

“It’s a new feature.” Jordan said before Chris could ask. “Out take valves were installed under the window. The vents in the room push in fresh air, the older air with the scents gets pushed out to us. It’s nice for just observing.”

“Can the person in the room smell us out here?” Chris asked, if they could that would almost make the rooms counterproductive for those in the hall trying to remain unseen. 

“No, the air can only exit the valves one way. We can also shut them and have the air circulate in just the room.” Jordan stepped up to the door, his hand coming to rest on the handle. “I’ll wait out here to open it for you, just knock.” 

Chris nodded and Jordan swung the door open.

The door opened with a loud click, Jordan stepped back, allowing space for Chris to step by.

The kids head shot up at the noise, his hands fell to the table with a thunk, and his heartbeat skyrocketed. 

Chris stopped a step into the room, blocking the door as it closed purely out of habit. There was no way this kid would make it past him. And, Chris realized, he actually was a kid. Maybe nineteen at the oldest but he looked closer to seventeen. 

Fear mingled with stress and anxiety in the air around him and for a second they just stared at each other. 

The kid was pale with deep circles under his eyes, and Chris could make out the yellows and greens of a healing bruise poking out from under the collar of his shirt. He took a long slow breath, sifting through the environmental smells to analyze the kids emotional state. 

The short answer was he felt like prey. He felt trapped and scared and uncertain, which was more than understandable. Chris would feel the same way being in a room like this. Yet beneath the major scents was something sharp and bitter, like citrus just starting to spoil. He was scared, yes, but he was also planning. 

Chris smiled. The kid had some spirit left in him. “Hello.”

The kids eyes narrowed. His chest didn’t show any major inflection, his nostrils didn’t flair, there was nothing to indicate he was scenting Chris back. 

Damn. Strike one. 

Chris’ hope at expecting the kid to be Feral instead of an Omega was rapidly diminishing. Even though the bruise could have been inflicted by a pack Alpha--those wounds were slow to heal on everybody-- it didn’t look large enough. Pack Alphas were the largest of all the wolves in their shifted form, and what he could see of the bruised claw mark it was simply not big enough.

Strike two.

“Let’s go for a walk.” Chris motioned toward the door. 

The kid didn’t move. 

“I hate being in interrogation rooms, they make my skin crawl.” Chris made a show of rubbing his arms, it was best to be more outward with your reactions when dealing with Omega’s who couldn’t smell your emotions, he reminded himself. 

The kid still didn’t move.

Chris knocked on the door. Showing him that they could leave the room would be better than any words he could offer. 

Jordan opened it, brow pulled down and glancing rapidly between them. “What are you doing?”

Chris looked back at the kid. 

He was sitting up straight now, face an unreadable mask as he took in the open door and the two wolves in the doorway like he was trying to figure out if it was a trap.

“We’re going for a walk,” Chris repeated. “Unless he desperately wants to stay in here?” He glanced curiously over his shoulder. 

That spurred the kid into motion. He jumped up fast enough to send the flimsy chair topping backwards and winced when it clattered against the floor.

It wasn’t surprising the kid was so ready to go with him. Chris would have been more surprised if he opted to stay in the room. 

Sure, he may not know or trust Chris, but he’d been running from or to somebody before he was picked up and he most certainly wasn’t going to get anywhere being trapped in there. Using Chris as an out was the only real shot he had at escape. 

The kid righted the chair, chancing quick glances at Chris. “Outside?” His voice cracked like he hadn’t spoken in days and Chris made a mental note to grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge in the break room.

He ignored Jordans blantenet stare and nodded, “Sure, I was just thinking around the building, but the fresh air will be nice.”

The kid wilted at the thought of just walking around the building but his eyes gleamed hopefully at the mention of fresh air. 

Even if he tried to run once they were outside, he wouldn’t get far. He smelled tired and the night was too cold for most Omegas to handle without proper outerwear. 

Chris glanced at the thin t-shirt and jeans he wore, wishing he’d brought one of Isaac’s old jackets for him. Hindsight. 

It would be cold, but obliging the kids request to go outside would accomplish a couple things in the long run. It showed him that Chris was willing to cooperate with what he wished for; which would come in handy when he started asking for specific things,like certain foods, or articles of clothing. And it showed he was listening to him, not just brushing him off. Which encouraged conversation and sharing information, which was pertinent to finding out where he came from. 

Chris smiled as he realized he’d been at this job for way too long, and this kid was most definitely coming home with him tonight. “My name’s Chris, what’s yours?”

The kid ignored him, scurrying around the table and across the room to Chris’ side staying just far enough away so they didn’t brush against each other.

That was fine. Chris wasn’t going to push him for information. 

They stepped into the hall and the kids breathing hitched, he stared down the hall, then quickly averted his gaze and focused on the floor in a sign of submission. 

Chris stepped forward. 

The kid followed. 

Jordan shut the door and walked a few steps behind them, hands resting on his keys, just in case. The thought of Jordan being worried the kid was going to steal his keys made Chris want to roll his eyes. But he also knew better than to judge. He didn’t know this kid yet. 

The kid was giving Jordan a wide berth anyway, having decided Chris was the lesser of two threats. 

“Stiles.”

The word was barely a whisper and so delayed after Chris’ question it took him a second to process what had been said. It was an odd name, probably a nickname he realized. He smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

Stiles nodded jerkily but didn’t look up and didn’t acknowledge further.

Chris led them down the hall they’d come, listening to Jordan’s mumbling of “this is why you get Omega calls”. 

Chris watched Stiles look around, eyeing each passing window and the turns they made to get to the lobby. At least for now he would need to mark Stiles as a flight risk, which was normal for Omegas. 

The lobby came into view and Stiles hesitated, eyes landing on Tara who was still behind the counter. 

“What are you doing?” Tara demanded. “You can’t take him out of that room, he’s dangerous.”

Chris pointedly looked Stiles up and down. His frame was thin,his cheeks hollow, he probably weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. Clever, yes. Dangerous, Chris wasn’t too sure. 

“Tara, enough.” Jordan said, stepping around Chris and Stiles to get between them.

Stiles scooted closer to Chris to keep the distance between him and Jordan.

“Chris knows what he’s doing.”

Stiles hung his head, refusing to look at any of them around him. 

Jordan shooed them toward the door of the station before turning to face Tara. “Everyone makes mistakes-” whatever Jordan had been about to say was cut off as he and Stiles stepped outside.

The rush of cold made Chris instantly tense, Stiles didn’t seem to feel it. 

When Stiles didn’t immediately bolt, Chris relaxed. 

Stiles’ gaze skipped around the dark parking lot, his heartbeat slowly becoming faster. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt and looked up at Chris, his amber eyes seemed to glow a Beta gold in the light of the station.

“Are you alright?” Chris asked. A quick breath didn’t indicate any foreign scents and there were no noises that shouldn’t have been there. 

Stiles looked back out at the cars.

Was he planning on stealing one? Chris absently felt his pocket for his own car key. It was still there.

“I’m not going back.” Stiles wrapped his arms around his middle, a weak attempt to shield himself from the cold. He turned, staring at Chris in determination and desperation. “I _will not_ go back.”

Chris cocked his head to the side. Oddly enough, it didn’t sound like Stiles was referring to the station. “Go back where?”

Stiles’ chest hitched and he vomited on Chris’ shoes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the Kudos and comments!! They feed my soul. :)
> 
> I said I'd post when I finished the next chapter, and I am officially on chapter four. I counted the plot points and what I've vaguely outlined and the tentative chapter count is 17, it's very possible it will go up, I highly doubt it will go down.
> 
> Just like before, typos and mistakes are my own, this is not Beta'd.
> 
> **Warnings at the bottom of the chapter**

Stiles sat in the chair Chris had placed him in, a cool bottle of water clutched tightly between his hands. He slumped, staring at the yellow floor of the station while Chris and Jordan spoke at the front desk.

He wanted to run. He was so close; he could _see_ the door that led to the parking lot. But his legs were trembling, and a cold sweat had broken out across his face and neck. He just wanted to lay down and _sleep_

“Are you ready?” Chris asked.

Stiles jumped, he hadn’t heard the man approach. “Where are we going?” His stomach rolled, still not settled after he lost the candy bars in the parking lot. 

He clenched his hands into fists. This whole situation wasn’t _fair_. He’d been out of the last Alpha’s house for less than a week, and if anyone was going to catch him, he thought it would be _them_. 

Tears of frustration built in his eyes, but he blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. 

Chris seemed nice enough on the outside, but all wolves did at first, with their false smiles and sweet lies, they could trick anyone. Even other wolves. 

Chris’ brow twitched and he took a slightly deeper breath than normal. 

Stiles hunched his shoulders; he was being scented. The close attention was nearly as bad as being ignored. He brought his hands up, threading his fingers through his hair and gripping hard enough to cause pressure. He was fine, this was fine, he would get away, _again_. 

Wherever Chris wanted to take him, he knew he was going to end up going. He couldn’t out right fight a wolf without exposing himself as a human, and he would never do that again. Besides, if he stayed here he would be put back in a cell, then he would have no chance at escape and he’d ultimately be caught.

It was true, he’d gotten to the break room in San Francisco before he was stopped, but he’d caught those officers off guard. They’d moved him quickly, transferring him here, wherever the hell _here_ was. Then he’d managed to get the keycard from the she-wolf behind the counter. Unfortunately, Jordan had caught him in the lobby and tossed him in the interrogation room. Everyone here was quickly learning his tricks, and if he was going to be forced to go somewhere new, he at least wanted to know where so he could start planning again.

A large hand came to rest on his knee and he jumped, jerking up.

Chris was crouched in front of him, blue eyes filled with concern. This close to him, Stiles could make out the various flecks of colors in his eyes, and the ever so slight wrinkles around them. 

Hopefully the crows feet meant Chris was a naturally happy person. The scowling wrinkles on Deucs face had been an unfortunately true indicator of his personality. Though Kali liked to say Stiles caused those wrinkles. 

Chris’ fingers tightened comfortingly on his leg and he became acutely aware he’d missed what Chris had just said. 

Chris smiled softly, releasing Stiles’ knee. “I have a spare room at my house you can stay in tonight. We can talk more on the ride there.”

Stiles stared. Did this man not expect him to put up a fight? Did he expect him to go willingly with him to a place he’d never been too. Granted, he knew going with him was his best chance to escape, and the only option at this point. But the casual way Chris spoke made it sound like Stiles had already agreed. And he hadn’t. 

He twisted the hem of his shirt between his fingers, the water bottle abandoned on his lap.

Deuc used to do most of the talking, he didn’t like Stiles talking back. He was just expected to do what he was told, so what kind of conversation did Chris expect? One where Stiles had the option to participate, or one where he was expected to listen? Not that he planned on doing either. All he wanted to do was get the hell out of Dodge. And to do that, he needed to get out of the police station, by going with this man.

Stiles pushed himself off the chair, remembering at the last second to grab the water bottle before it fell to the floor. Blood rushed to his head and he swayed for a second, colorful spots dancing across his vision. 

Chris steadied him with a hand on his elbow and waited until he was sure Stiles was standing firmly before letting go and walking toward the door. 

Stiles followed him back out into the dark parking lot.

Chris spoke softly as they walked, stupid wolves and their sensitive ears. From what Stiles could hear it was stories about his family, and his past. He looked out across the lot at the various vehicles, he wasn’t interested in learning the life story of another captor.

The lights on a dark Mazda flashed and they stopped walking. It was stunning to realize he’d be getting in a _car_. Deuc and Kali preferred to walk everywhere, their old car sat unused in their garage beneath the apartment. But wherever he was now certainly wasn’t the city he’d run from. 

He frowned, was it even possible to walk to where Chris lived? Maybe he lived way out in the middle of nowhere. Would he be able to find his way back to the main road? He swallowed, stepping around the side of the car to the passenger side where he was met with yet another problem. He looked between the front and back doors uncertainty.

Chris watched him over the top of the car, and once again Stiles realized he’d missed what Chris had said. Sooner or later Chris would have to realize that he didn’t have the super hearing wolves did and if he wanted to tell Stiles something, he needed to speak up.

“What?” Stiles asked, digging his thumb nail into the paper wrapper on the water bottle.

“Front seat’s fine.” Chris repeated, nodding his head for Stiles to get it.

Stiles did, shutting the door quickly behind him. 

The leather seats groaned when he sat down and the cold quickly wore its way through his jeans. He pulled the seatbelt across his chest and waited, trying not to shiver.

It seemed Chris wasn’t worried about him grabbing the steering wheel or emergecny break if he was fine with letting him sit upfront. But maybe he should be, Stiles thought, glancing at both and noting just how within reach they were. Grabbing either of those though had more consequences than just pissing Chris off. If the car crashed he would more than likely be hurt. Same if he tried to jump out. Waiting until he got to Chris’ house to run was still the better option.

Chris slid into his own seat, reaching around the wheel and starting the car. He smiled encouragingly at Stiles. “Ready?”

“No.” He cringed back in the seat, leaning toward the passenger door. A response like that would have earned him a swat or at least a growl from any of his other captors. 

Chris only put the car in drive and watched him from the corner of his eye. “That’s okay,” he said.

Stiles turned to the window and glowered. Chris pretending to be nice made the situation _worse_. If he had snapped, or yelled, or snarled, at least Stiles would know where he stood. Instead he hadn’t done any of that, and when he finally realized Stiles was only human it was going to make the reaction so much worse.

He slid down in the seat, resting his head against the door and watched the streetlights pass over head.

Chris was talking again, constant and low. It was still hard to make out what he was saying, so he listened to the tone and pitch of his voice instead.

Stiles bit the insides of his cheeks. At the moment Chris seemed even nicer than Matt, and Matt had been the kindest of his four captors. 

Matt bought him from Kali years ago, Stiles could just barely remember witnessing the transaction. Matt wanted him just to say he owned a human. Stiles had been kept like someone would keep an unwanted pet. His basic needs were met well enough, but he was mostly ignored. Which he did not take well. He needed stimulation, and being locked in an empty house all day was not entertaining.

He ran away from Matt twice. The second time he was gone for a full day before Matt had caught him just on the edge of town. Stiles could still feel the scape of concrete as Matt tackled him. After that, Matt returned him to Kali saying he was too much work, and too breakable. 

A chill ran down his spine.

Chris reached over and turned up the heat and Stiles realized he’d fallen silent. There was only so long someone could hold a conversation by themselves, he supposed. 

After that Kali kept him for a while again until she started dating Deucalion. Since she didn’t know if Deuc would turn her in for having a human, she traded him to Theo for a dinner set. 

He shuddered again. It wasn’t until Deuc found out about him and expressed interest that Kali demanded him back as a gift for her new mate. Stiles almost wished he had stayed with Theo. Almost.

Deuc scared him the most. His temper was unpredictable in the best of times, and he made sure Stiles knew just how dangerous wolves could be. He could still feel the claws pierce his skin.

The car bumped over the curb as Chris pulled into a driveway; the motion jared Stiles from his thoughts. 

They rolled up to a double car garage attached to a large house that looked like it could come from one of Kali’s magazines. 

It was two floors, with a wide covered porch that had a swing. 

Chris pushed a button on his rearview mirror and the garage door opened, he eased forward, parking next to a sleek sports car, blocking the front of the house from Stiles’ view.

Stiles’ heart pounded as he slid from the car after Chris parked. He took a deep breath, all he had to do was play along for now, then he’d run once Chris had gone to bed. It was a classic move, but hopefully one Chris wouldn’t be expecting. It was classic for a reason, after all.

Chris shut the car door and squeezed around the front of the vehicle towards another door.

“Welcome home,” he said cheerfully, opening the door.

Stiles didn’t respond.

This place wasn’t home. It would _never_ be home. He stepped through the door into a large laundry room. 

An oversized washer and drying sat off to the right, across from a bench that housed shoes beneath it. 

Stiles toed off his own shoes when he saw Chris kick off his. 

Chris gave his bare feet a look that lasted a second too long, guilt flashed across his face when he noticed Stiles watching him.

“I’ll get you some spare clothes and show you where the bathroom is incase you want to freshen up.”

Stiles almost smiled, he must smell to Chris’ sensitive nose. It wasn’t surprising, it wasn’t like he had a place to shower after he left, and there were rules to showering at Kali’s and Deuc’s. 

“This way.” 

Chris led him through the laundry room into a living room, there was a large fireplace against the far wall with a TV above it, and huge glass doors showed an unfenced backyard. To the left was a formal dining room, a kitchen, and stairs that led up to the second floor. That’s where Chris took him. 

Stiles counted each step as they climbed, he needed to know how many there were incase the house was completely dark when he made a break for it. 

The top of the stairs opened into a second living space with doors on each of the walls. 

“Office,” Chris pointed to the door straight across from them. “Bathroom-” the door to the right of that. “The room you’ll be staying in,” that one was off to the right, a closet was next to it, and the master was on the wall behind them along with a library.

“I won’t sleep with you?” Stiles asked.

Chris froze, eyes widening, then narrowing. Stiles quickly pressed on, “Not like that, not _with_ you. I just- I’ll have my own room?” He stared up at Chris hopefully, and the man nodded. Thank the gods. That’d make his escape easier. He’d heard Chris say at the station that he had a spare room for him, but he wasn’t always told the truth.

“Yes, you’ll have your own space.” Chris walked over to the door he’d indicated as a closet and pulled the door open. 

Stiles shifted uneasily, he couldn’t see what Chris was reaching for, but he hadn’t been dismissed so he stayed where he was. 

When Chris stepped back he was holding a pack of white T-shirts and socks. Stiles relaxed. A pair of gray sweat pants, still with stickers on them, was added to the pile.

Chris frowned into the closet. “I don’t have any underwear, but we can go out tomorrow and you can pick out some clothes.” He handed the items to Stiles. “There are towels in the closet in the bathroom if you want to shower.” 

If? Chris was giving him a choice?

Chris pressed his lips together and Stiles swore for a split second he looked sad, but as soon as the expression was there, it was gone again.

“Your room is over here.” Chris led him to the bedroom and pushed the door open.

A full sized bed sat against the wall, a large dresser across from it, and an empty bookshelf next to that. It reminded him of a hotel room, simple and functional. 

Stiles stepped cautiously into the room. The room was spacious, much bigger than he was used to, and it even had a window. 

The bed was made nicely with a warm looking comforter... that wolves wouldn’t have a need for. 

His heart skipped a beat. Did Chris already know he wasn’t a wolf? His gaze skipped to the empty shelves. He placed the new clothes on the dresser, gently easing open the top drawer. Also empty. Chris must have known he was going to be here. He pulled everything out of this room to make it ready for him. Chris knew he was coming.

Panic gripped his chest and breathing suddenly became a chore.

Chris _knew_.

Stiles stepped back, further into the room and closer to the window. He fisted the fabric of his shirt so his nails wouldn’t dig into his palms. The last thing he needed to do was anger Chris by getting blood on the carpet. 

“Stiles?” Chris asked worriedly. He stepped forward.

Stiles stepped back, shaking his head. His breath was coming too quickly for him to be able to speak clearly. This was a trap. It had to be. Chris must know Kali and Deuc, that’s why he was prepared for him to arrive. 

He glanced at the window, he’d never get to it before Chris caught him and who knows if he’d survive the fall. He looked back at Chris who was closer than he’d been a second ago. 

Chris held his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. Stiles could see his mouth moving and hear what sounded like words, but they didn’t make any sense. Darkness ebbed around the edges of his vision. He knees hit the carpet. He should have jumped from the car when he had his chance. 

Chris was next to him now. Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders. Stiles pitched himself to the side, away from the touch. It didn’t work. Chris’ arms tightened around him. Stiles struggled, his breathing ragged and unproductive. He could hear him speaking and felt Chris’ forehead come to rest on the exposed skin of his shoulder. 

He was aware enough to recognize the move as a wolf thing. And while it was helpful for wolves, it wasn’t helping _him_. 

A sob tore from his chest and he sagged into Chris’ arms, giving up. It was too late. Chris would do whatever he wanted to him now since he knew he was human. He would be restricted and locked away in a closet and would only be allowed outside under intense supervision. It took years to lull Kali and Deuc into being relaxed enough around him for him to escape. He couldn’t wait years again. He wouldn’t.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Chris rubbed gentle circles into his back.

Stiles cried.

Stiles’ senses came back gradually. They were still on the floor when Stiles’ head felt clear enough to think and his breathing returned to normal. His chest ached and there was a steady pounding behind his eyes, but as he quickly checked for any other pain he realized that was it. 

He was on Chris’ lap, the mans arms protectively curled around him, his chin resting on the top of Stiles’ head. 

Chris had to have known he was aware again, but he didn’t say anything. Stiles took the moment to just breathe and ground himself. He flexed his toes against the carpet, feeling the soft texture. 

Chris hadn’t hurt him during his panic, he hadn’t dug his claws into his sides or back, he hadn’t yelled or snarled. Stiles frowned. What the hell was he playing at?

“Can you tell me what scared you?” Chris asked softly.

Stiles tensed. How could Chris _not_ know what scared him? He’d just taken him captive for fucks sake! 

His stomach clenched. Unless Chris didn’t know he was human? But the room was prepared…

He shoved himself off Chris’ lap, this time he didn’t hold him back. He snatched his clothes from where he left them on the dresser. 

Chris stayed where he was on the floor.

“I’m going to take a shower.” Stiles muttered. Before the privilege was taken away. He didn’t look back as he left the room. He didn’t hear Chris get up, or even move, but he tensed when he reached the bathroom door, expecting Chris to grab his shoulder, spin him around, and demand an answer to his question.

Whether Chris was behind him or not, he didn’t turn around to see. He shoved the door open and quickly slammed it behind him, jamming the lock with his thumb. He stood with his back against it in the dark, chest heaving.

It took him four tries to find the lightswitch, in the end he turned on the fan, a light he was pretty sure was to heat up the room, and a dimmer that went from you-need-night vision-goggles to you-have-opened-the-gates-of-a-thousand-suns. Even Kali’s bathroom didn’t have that. 

He tore open the bag of T-shirts once he had enough light to see, and yanked one from the neatly folded pile. There were more shirts in this bag, a total of six, than items of clothing he owned. A sad smile twisted across his face. That was fine, he didn’t need much.

He peeled the stickers off the sweat pants and laid them along with the shirt on the back of the toilet. It was odd Chris gave him _new_ clothes. 

He ran his hands across the material. 

Deuc always insisted on giving him hand-me-downs that way he smelled like him. Ah well, he wasn’t going to bring that to Chris’ attention or argue.

Thankfully the shower wasn’t as complicated as the light switches. He quickly adjusted the knobs and within a few seconds had hot running water. 

He slipped out of his old clothes and stepped into the wall of slowly growing steam.

Unopened trial sizes of shampoo, conditioner, and bodywash sat on the shower rack and fear crept back into his stomach. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe, _maybe_ Chris didn’t know he was human.

He rested his forehead against the cool tile of the wall, being on the run was exhausting. 

Stiles didn’t get out of the shower until the water began to cool and his skin was a bright pink. 

The towels were in the closet where Chris told him they were. He grabbed the fluffiest looking one and buried his face in it. It was unscented, like everything else in the world. 

He dried and dressed at the speed of light and stepped out of the bathroom. 

The bedroom door was open but Chris no longer sat on the floor. Stiles walked closer, glancing around the room. Chris wasn't there at all. Was he supposed to stay in the room? 

He dropped his dirty clothes next to the wall for lack of a better place to put them and went back out into the living area. 

Certainly he wouldn’t get in trouble for wandering when he wasn’t _told_ to stay. He chewed on his bottom lip uncertainty. Right?

As he neared the top of the stairs he paused, the gentle thrum of voices rolling up from the kitchen. He recognized Chris’ voice but not the second. He eased down onto the first step, fingers raising to trail along the handrail.

When the voices didn’t hesitate in their conversation he quickly descended the steps as quietly as he could. There wasn’t a way to avoid being heard right now, even with the distance between them Stiles was sure they could easily hear his footsteps and breathing, if not his heartbeat as well.

He stepped around the corner and sliding his hand to move it from the rail to the corner of the wall. 

Chris stood in front of the sink, facing the stairs, and consequently him. He smiled quickly, covering whatever pinched expression he’d had a second before. 

A dark haired man stood sideways between them, his arms loosely crossed and jaw set. His sharp blue eyes cut to Stiles.

Stiles gripped the corner of the wall, instinct urging him to go back around the corner to flee to the safety of upstairs. 

“Stiles,” Chris said, “This is my mate, Peter. Peter, Stiles.”

Peter’s gaze flicked to Stiles’ hand on the wall and Stiles let it fall back to his side, he was probably leaving his scent everywhere. 

“Hello,” he muttered, avoiding Peter’s gaze.

“Nice to meet you,” Peter greeted, not unkindly. Peter’s gaze flicked over him scrutinizingly, picking up on things Stiles had no way of hiding.

“Come have a seat.” Chris motioned to the table across the kitchen in the dining nook. “Would you like something to eat or drink?”

Stiles looked to Peter, then the table. He’d have to walk past the man to get to it, and honestly he didn’t look happy that Stiles was even standing in the kitchen. But Chris hadn’t asked, and he still had to play along. 

Stiles took a breath, lowered his head, and crossed the room as quickly as possible while still giving Peter a wide berth. 

Peter’s head turned to follow as he passed but the man didn’t say anything.

“It’s a bit late,” Chris said, pretending he didn’t notice the tension in the room. “But we have leftover spaghetti, soup, salad, fruit?” 

Stiles shook his head, his stomach was still queasy from earlier. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Want some water? We also have tea. Herbal, I believe.” Chris turned and rummaged through a cabinet. He pulled out a couple boxes of herbal tea for Stiles to inspect.

His stomach churned, this time in danger. There were a lot of herbs wolves could consume that were toxic to humans. “Just water, please?”

It’d be hard to get past _two_ wolves, he thought sadly, but if he managed it with Deuc and Kali he could get past these two as well. Unless Deuc and Kali were close by, in which case he’d be running right back into their claws. 

His head pounded and his eyes burned with the emotional whiplash.

A bottle of water was set on the table next to him. He looked up, his brain to mouth filter temporarily out of service from his lack of sleep. “Were you expecting me tonight?”

“ _No_.”

“Peter!”

“We didn’t!” Peter shrugged, crossing the kitchen to the stairs. 

Stiles listened as he climbed to the second floor. A knot in his chest loosened. While Peter’s reaction could have been for show, the fact that Peter didn’t like him already meant he didn’t have a reason to lie. It wasn’t concrete proof, but it was something.

Chris sighed, taking the seat across from Stiles. He rested his forearms against the table and leveled a look at him. “If we were expecting you we would have had clothes in the dresser already, among other personal items. It’s not fun to be thrown into a strange place with nothing.”

“Oh.” Stiles picked blindly at the label on the water bottle. It almost sounded like Chris cared. He was a good actor. 

“Do you remember me telling you in the car about my line of work?”

Stiles swallowed, staring at the growing mess of paper flakes he was making. “You were talking quietly, and I spaced out.” It mostly true. He peeled a particularly large piece off the label and laid it next to the smaller pieces. From the corner of his eye he saw Chris nod. 

Damn him for acting nice.

“I help Omegas,” Chris began.

This time Stiles listened.

By the time Chris was finished talking Stiles had picked off and shredded the entire label and drank half the bottle. He didn’t ask any questions but it seemed Chris was convinced he was a wolf, an Omega. So at least that question was answered. 

“Peter doesn’t want me here.” Stiles pushed the paper into a pile.

“It takes him a little bit to warm up to strangers,” Chris said slowly. “But by the end of the week you could ask him for the moon and he would try to get it for you.”

Stiles smiled at the table. By the end of the week hopefully he’d be in New York and as far away from Deuc and Kali as possible, until he found a fake passport, then he’d go even farther away.

“Is it okay if I go to bed?” Stiles looked up in time to see Chris glance at the clock on the microwave and wince.

“Of course, you’re probably exhausted.” Chris stood and for a moment Stiles was worried he was going to go to bed with him. Instead he picked up the stray bits of paper Stiles missed. “Do you want to take the water with you?”

Stiles nodded. He could take the bottle with him when he left, too. He stood, muttering a short goodnight. 

Chris repeated the words and Stiles trekked back upstairs, bottle clutched to his chest. 

He glanced around when he made it to the top.

Light seeped out from under the office door and he ducked his head. Peter was still awake. Damn. He’d need to wait until they both were in bed before he could leave. 

He darted into the room, closing the door almost all the way, leaving it open just enough to hear when the other two went to bed.

Thankfully it wasn’t a full moon tonight, that meant once they were sleeping deeply he would be able to slip outside.

He cracked open the window, feeling the cool breeze brush against his face. Being able to see and feel the outside world made a small part in him relax.

Stiles sprawled on the bed, pulling the covers over him to make it look like he was asleep for when they inevitably walked by. 

The cool pillow felt nice beneath his head and he stretched his aching legs. This was the first time he’d been in a bed just for him in years. He smashed his face into the pillowcase, if he tried he could imagine the smell some of detergent. 

He smiled and turned, looking at the clock on the nightstand, it was just before midnight. His eyes burned and the pounding in his head intensified. Closing his eyes would be fine. He’d check to see if Chris and Peter were in their room around two or so, that’d give them plenty of time to finish whatever they were doing and fall asleep. 

Slowly his eyes drifted shut. He’d open them at two.

Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, and the faint smell of bacon wafted into the room.

Stiles rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head to block the light. Fucking _hell_ , he thought as he realized he had fallen asleep. Tonight for sure.

He rolled out of bed and stared for a second at the disheveled bedding, Kali always like it neat and made. He glanced at the door, then back to the bed. He’d make it later. 

He grabbed a clean shirt on his way to the bathroom, fully prepared to grovel for bacon if he had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Warning: Stiles has a panic attack when he suspects Chris knows he's human.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles rounded the corner into the kitchen. 

Peter sat at the small table next to Chris, a steaming mug of coffee in front of both of them. Stiles frowned, eyeing a tea bag string hanging over the side of the cups. That could not taste pleasant.

Both men looked up at his entrance. 

“Good morning,” Chris said.

“Morning.” Stiles repeated, he wasn’t sure if it was ‘good’ yet. 

Chris stood, picking up an empty plate from the counter, he stepped up to the stove. “Would you like something for breakfast?” He tilted the plate at the assortment of food.

Stiles blinked, the bacon he smelled earlier was there, along with eggs, sausage, biscuits, and some sort of eggy looking pie.

“Bacon?” His mouth watered.

Deuc rarely allowed him to have bacon, he was mostly given meal replacement bars and electrolyte drinks. 

Chris tossed several slices of bacon onto the plate and waited.

Stiles stared at the plate, fingers itching to take it. He’d answered Chris’ question, why wasn’t he giving him the food? He glanced at Chris’ face, searching for a clue as to what he had done wrong.

Chris gave him a small smile and handed him the plate. “If you want more you’re welcome to anything we have.”

Stiles took the plate and Chris picked up his mug from the table. “Go ahead, have a seat.”

Stiles stuffed a slice of bacon in his mouth, met Peter’s gaze, and hesitated mid step toward the table. 

Peter scowled. “I’m going to call Talia.” He stood, sweeping out of the kitchen and vanishing up the stairs. 

Stiles sat down, devouring the bacon. It was gone in minutes. He leaned back in the chair, his stomach uncomfortably full and rumbling from the grease.

Chris took the other chair at the table, it reminded Stiles of how they were sitting last night.

“Who’s Talia?” Stiles asked, glancing at the contents of Chris’ mug. It _looked_ like coffee with a tea bag floating in the center.

“His sister, and pack Alpha.” 

Stiles raised his eyebrows. If any of the people he’d been with had a pack Alpha he’d never heard mention of them. He was seventy percent sure Kali, Deuc, Theo, and Matt were pack, as well as good friends, but none of them had ever mentioned a pack Alpha.

Chris sipped his drink as Stiles thought.

“Do all wolves have one of those?” he asked.

Chris hesitated halfway through putting his cup down. “Most do,” he said carefully. “Sometimes extended pack members will form their own minor pack with each other, but they still have ties to the larger pack.”

“Oh.” Great, would he have to be more careful than just avoiding Deuc and Kali then? He filed the information away for later. One step at a time, he reminded himself.

“So,” Chris said, capturing Stiles’ attention. “The plan for today. Peter had court this morning but it got postponed so he would like to come with us-” Stiles jolted, his eyes widening. Chris stopped. 

“Peter’s a criminal?” Stiles blurted. Theo had been a criminal too, not that Stiles had physical evidence against him, but this, _this_ was something he was familiar with. “I won’t tell, I promise.”

Chris’ expression crumbled into laughter and Stiles trailed off confused.

“No, Peter’s not a criminal, he’s a lawyer,” Chris chuckled. “Though I suppose some people would consider that a type of criminal.”

“Oh, okay.” Stiles focused on the empty plate in front of him. Chris laughing at him was better than him being mad.

“Alright,” Chris took a breath, wiping his eyes. “The plan is we’re going to go to the store and get you come clothes, you can pick out toiletries too, and anything you think you might need.” The crinkle around his eyes vanished as his face took on a more serious tone. He shifted his weight, digging in his pocket until he pulled out a red wristband. 

Stiles frowned at it. It looked like a wide, plastic bracelet, but the clasp was similar to a zip tie. The extra bit left over from being threaded through got tucked under a loop like on a watch. 

Chris offered it to him to inspect. “It’s best if you wear that.”

Stiles ran his fingers over the material, it was sturdy, yet soft enough he didn’t think it would chaffe his skin. He flipped it over and saw Chris’ information engraved on the flat part of the band. He scowled. He was a person, not _property_.

“It will tell other wolves that you’re not capable of wolf abilities,” Chris explained. “They won’t, or shouldn’t, expect you to react to subtle shifts in scents or body language. It’s a safety precaution.”

“It has your information on it.” Stiles said dryly. He ran his thumb over the lettering. 

“Incase you get lost, you know the address and my phone number.”

More like incase he tries to run and someone catches him. Stiles ground his teeth together. He wanted to hurl the bracelet at Chris and refuse to leave the house if that was the only way he was going to be let out.

“Every Omega that’s come through this house wore red at first.” Chris said with infinite patience. He nursed his drink, watching Stiles. “After red there’s a yellow one I’ll ask you to wear. The yellow means you have some abilities but are still learning control.”

Stiles pushed the tip of the band through the clasp until it clicked, just like a zip tie. The loop was still plenty big enough for him to fit his hand through. He flicked it between his fingers, examining one side, then the other. “I won’t be able to take it off once it’s on.” 

It was possible if he left it loose enough he would be able to slip it over his fingers, but he doubted Chris would allow him to wear it that loose. A familiar spot on the clasp caught his eye, careful not to draw Chris’ attention to his potential breakthrough, he kept spinning the band, only looking at the spot when it came back around. Just like a zip tie then, he thought. 

“They’re made to last a week. I’ll cut it off then and replace it with a new one.”

Stiles’ heart sank. “So it’s not just for when we go out?”

Chris shook his head. “If someone comes over to the house, they need to know so they don’t expect things from you that you can’t do.”

Stiles pressed his lips together. He had an idea on how to get the contraption open, but he wouldn’t be able to test his theory until later, and if he was expected to wear it around the house he needed to make sure he _could_ get it off.

He tugged the band over his left hand, tightening it until it wasn’t obvious he still had room to pull his hand out. Time to lay the groundwork and start basic. He met Chris’ eyes in a challenge and Chris smiled apologetically. 

“Can I help you with that?” Chris held his hands out for Stiles’.

Stiles obliged, placing his hand in Chris’ and watched as the man tightened it. He was careful to leave enough room for the band to still spin freely before he pulled away. 

Stiles smiled. “Thanks.” Now that Chris had fixed it to his liking he was less likely to keep checking to make sure Stiles still had it on.

Chris winced at Stiles’ insincere tone but didn’t comment on it. “That okay?”

No. “Yeah.” Stiles closed his hand around the foreign item and his wrist, it fell odd. 

Stiles wound up in the back seat of Chris’ car while he drove to the store and Peter sat in the passenger seat, talking about some guy named Scott who got into an argument with another guy named Derek. The annoyed way Peter spoke made it seem like that was a regular occurrence between them. 

Stiles only half listened, making mental notes of the street names they passed. What did he care about these people?

It turned out, Peter and Chris lived near the center of town, and close to everything. 

They hadn’t passed three stop lights before Chris pulled into a large parking lot and found an empty spot. 

He spun the bracelet around his wrist, following the older men from the car. His heart pounded. There were a lot of other cars in the lot. He watched people leave and enter the store they were walking towards. He’d never gone into a store this big before. 

He’d seen stores like this on TV, and in magazines, even heard Deuc complain about going in on weekends. But Stiles, he stuck to gas stations and twenty four hour marts because everything like this was closed at midnight, and there were just too many nosy wolves when he was trying to go unnoticed. 

“Are you coming?” Peter asked over his shoulder.

Chris frowned at him in concern and Stiles quickly closed the distance between them, walking as close to Chris’ back as he could without stepping on him.

People glanced at them as they passed, Stiles clutched the bracelet anxiously. It was fine, he told himself, the red color meant they didn’t expect him to act like a wolf, that’s what Chris _said_. They wouldn’t assume he was anything else, they had no reason to.

Peter detoured to grab a cart, then rejoined them as they walked toward the clothing. 

Stiles looked around, this place was big. T-shirts hung on hangers from stands and folded pants lined the wall. 

“Go ahead and pick something out.” Chris prompted when Stiles didn’t move. 

He stepped forward, reaching out and touching each of the different looking materials. He picked up a soft, blue plaid shirt with buttons when he realized he shouldn’t be putting too much thought into this. He wouldn’t be able to take most of what he picked out with him, and he didn’t want Chris and Peter to waste their money. 

He hung the shirt back up. What he needed was to find the bulk packs like what Chris gave him the night before. Those were probably going to be the cheapest.

He wound his way through the clothing stands, occasionally glancing around to see where Chris and Peter were. They weren’t hovering as close as he thought they would. Whenever Deuc went outside with him he was practically glued to his hip. Chris and Peter didn’t seem to care where he wandered.

Stiles stepped down an aisle, completely out of sight, neither one appeared out of the aether to scold him.

He found the multi shirt packs and grabbed one with a yellow sticker that proclaimed it was on sale, then walked back around to look for the jeans. He’d have to leave his old clothes at Chris’ house. The smell of them would leave his scent in the room long enough for him to put some distance between them.

He grabbed the first pair of jeans he saw and walked back to the cart, ducking around an older woman. She snorted, then turned away. 

He held up the items for Chris’s approval.

Peter lifted an eyebrow, skeptical, but Chris nodded, and if Chris said it was okay, then it most likely was.

“Those pants won’t fit you.” Peter said when Stiles tried to place them in the cart.

Stiles examined them. They looked close enough to the ones he had.

“They’re too big,” Peter elaborated. 

Stiles glanced at the wall he’d gotten them from.

“Why don’t you try them on,” Chris suggested. “There are fitting rooms around the corner.” He eyed the pants for a second then threw Peter an agreeable look. 

Peter rolled his eyes, but Stiles ignored him, grabbing the pants and heading off in the direction Chris had indicated. He stepped up to the counter where a bored looking young man was folding clothes. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, barely glancing up from his work.

Stiles held up the pants, the anxiety back. “I need to try these on,” he said quickly.

The man’s eyes fell on the bracelet but his expression didn’t change. “This way.”

Stiles followed him as he was led to a door, the man unlocked it and held it open. 

“There you go, let me know if it doesn’t fit and I’ll put it back.”

Stiles stepped into the small box, listening as the door shut behind him. 

Hangers hung on empty hooks and a single sock resided crumpled on the bench in the corner. He looked down when something crunched under his feet, shards of a broken hanger were strewn across the ground. 

He placed the new jeans on the bench, stooping to examine the hanger pieces, those might be what he needed, he realized.

He picked up a small piece with a thin edge and paused, listening to everything around him. 

The general rumble of store movement and conversation was probably enough to drown out the noise of the band. 

He spun the bracelet around until the clasp was up, and pinned it between his wrist and chest before jamming the hanger piece against the part he’d noticed earlier. 

The clasp slid up the band, loosening it. With another tug the band was almost completely unclasped. 

He beamed. He could get it off! But right now, he needed it to stay on. He picked up the jeans, wrapping them around his wrist to help muffle the sound of it clicking back into place, then he stuffed the hanger shard into his pocket for later.

The jeans were in fact, too big. Just like Peter thought they would be. Stiles ended up getting a size smaller, a pack of socks and underwear, and new shoes, at Peters insistence. 

By the time they made it to the toiletries Stiles’ knees were beginning to tremble. He had more items in the cart than he’d had his _whole life_. 

Chris had tossed in a shirt for himself, and a tie for Peter, but the fact that most of the cart was _his_ felt wrong.

Stiles stared at a wall of shampoo and body wash feeling overwhelmed. The majority of them were unscented, but others were decorated with pictures of fruit or plants. He’d never seen anything scented for wolves before. Finally curiosity won over and he picked up one with an orange and opened the cap.

His eyes grew wide when the scent of orange burst from the bottle. 

“It actually smells like oranges!” He held the bottle out for Chris to smell. The man leaned forward and sniffed, though he could probably already smell it from where he was standing.

“Smells nice,” Chris agreed. 

“That’s typically what the picture means,” Peter grumbled. 

Stiles glanced at him but he was turned away. Had he made him mad already?

Stiles opened and smelled a couple more bottles, trying to distract himself from Peters reaction. He was leaving anyway, he reminded himself. He slowly clicked the cap closed, disappointed. He wouldn’t have a need for it because he was going to end up leaving it behind anyway. 

He set the bottles back on the shelf and reached for the generic unscented brand, they’d probably be able to use that one after he was gone. 

“You don’t like any of those?” Chris asked, noticing him put them back. “There’s more down here.” He stepped farther down the aisle in front of name brand items. 

“This is good.” Stiles grabbed the corresponding body wash for the shampoo and set them in the cart, shortly followed by unscented deodorant. 

Chris opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then shut it, the sad look Stiles had noticed before returning to his face. “Get whatever you want.”

They stopped at a couple other sections. Stiles mutely shook his head when Chris asked if he wanted to get a book or board game. Reading would be nice, but a bulky item wasn’t easy to travel with. Chris paused only a second before he moved on to art supplies, sketch books, activity books, anything he thought Stiles might like to do for fun. Each time Stiles declined, and when they were half way around the store, Chris gave up, and began to walk back to the register.

Stiles didn’t look at the total after the cashier rang them up. Chris didn’t hesitate to pay it, he only swiped his card and thanked the cashier. 

Stiles edged closer to Chris when a couple people got in line behind them as they waited for the receipt to print.

The teenager stepped forward as Stiles did, twisted around to continue her conversation with the another person in the group. It was an innocent enough action, but Stiles’ heart began to pound as he shifted even closer into Chris’ back. He looked around quickly, feeling trapped. With Chris in front and the girl behind, he was caught between them, the conveyer belt, and a shelf of snacks. 

Peter growled. The teenager and cashier both looked up quickly, then the girl stepped back, giving Stiles more space.

Stiles could feel their eyes on him, every hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He didn’t look up the whole walk back to the car. 

“They weren’t paying attention,” Peter said softly as they walked.

It took Stiles a moment to realize he and Chris were talking. 

“Just be cautious.”

“I know.” Peter sighed, long and hard. “You’re right.”

Right about what? Stiles wanted to ask. But Chris popped the trunk and started loading the bags into it while Peter took the cart to the corral. 

Stiles slid into the backseat, he was ready to go back to their house. The store was intense, and he had things he needed to get ready.

The drive back was silent. Stiles mentally repeated the street names as they approached each intersection, his confidence grew with each one he got right.

Just like before, Chris parked in the garage. Stiles waited by the trunk as he handed him the bags with his things in them.

“I’ll get lunch started,” Peter said, opening the door to the house for them.

Stiles clutched the bags tightly and scurried toward the stairs. The quiet of the house was a stark contrast to the noise of the store, and the anxiety in his chest began to loosen with each step.

He made it to the second floor and went right to the room for him, closing the door quickly.

He set the bags on the unmade bed and began pulling the clothes out, opening the packages gently incase Chris tried to return them. Once everything was out and mostly sticker free, he transferred them to the dresser drawers, tucking the broken hanger beneath his new shirts.

Stiles stepped back, glancing around the room. His dirty clothes from yesterday were still by the wall, those, in combination with the ones he wore today, should be enough to make the room smell like he was still in it, especially if he placed them close to the door. 

He walked over to the nightstand, examining the clock on it. Sure enough, there was a dial and a power switch. It didn’t take long for him to find a rock station on the radio and adjust the volume. The steady pounding of the songs would throw off Chris and Peters ability to hear his heartbeat.

He smiled to himself.

The door would be shut when he left, so he didn’t need to worry too much about them seeing he was gone, neither of them had opened his door so far anyway. 

His old shoes were down in the laundry room and he had yet to put his new ones down there, if he wore the new ones it wouldn’t be obvious his shoes were missing.

He placed his hands on his hips, looking around the room for anything he might have missed. This was as good as it was going to get. He could _do_ this.

Stiles left the radio on when he went downstairs for lunch. Peter had made a vegetable soup with sandwiches that had cheese, lettuce, meat, and apple slices on it. Stiles frowned at the combination at first but was pleasantly surprised when he tried it. 

A third chair was produced from somewhere and placed at the table so they could eat together, Stiles sat between Chris and the wall, across from Peter. Neither one mentioned the radio going in the room.

Stiles spent the rest of the day upstairs listening to the DJ play the newest songs, none of which he recognized, a few of which he found himself liking. 

When he went down for dinner he left the radio on again, it would get them used to hearing it in the background so they didn’t suspect anything tonight. 

As they sat around the dinner table Stiles couldn’t help but notice how tired Chris and Peter looked. They didn’t get dark circles beneath their eyes like he did, but the way they held their eyes and the slight slowing of their movements gave them away. Stiles hoped they’d go to sleep early tonight. 

The clock on the nightstand said one thirty when Stiles picked up his shoes and tiptoed toward the bedroom door. The red bracelet sat dead center on the freshly made bed, his old clothes were on either side of the door, and the DJ played some new number one hit. He stepped out into the living room, easing the door closed.

Chris and Peter had gone to their room around ten, after a series of brief growls, which Stiles assumed had been an argument, the room fell silent. He waited an additional two hours before moving.

He stepped lightly down the stairs, mouthing numbers as he counted down the steps. He turned through the other living room toward the sliding glass door. The garage door was too noisy to open, and the front door was beneath their bedroom, so he would have to go out the back and walk around the side of the house to get to the street. 

The door slid open easily and he stepped outside, tugging on his shoes. Goosebumps immediately erupted across his skin and he shivered, his breath fogging the air around his face. He’d warm up once he started moving.

He shut the door, and walked across the grass, looping around until he found the driveway, he followed it out to the street. 

Stiles found the main street easily enough. He still didn’t know the name of the town he was in, but according to Chris’ compass on his rearview mirror Main Street ran East and West, and New York was East so that was the way he was going to go. He headed off in the direction they’d gone to get to the store.

He stayed on the sidewalk when there was one and the shoulder when there wasn’t. He tried to keep his back straight and shoulders square, act like he knew where he was going. He’d found over his numerous escapes that if you acted like you knew what you were doing, or where you were going, people tended to question you less.

A few cars passed when he got to the first intersection. The stop light flashed a cautionary yellow. The town must be small if the streetlights shut off like that, he mused. The ones in the city stayed on all the time. 

He crossed the street, tucking his hands under his arms to keep them warm. His teeth began to chatter despite him trying to stop it. A wolf wouldn’t be bothered by this weather, he told himself. You’ll give yourself away.

Another car drove past, this time the burst of cold air had him shaking. He should have asked for a jacket at the store. He rubbed his arms, trying to warm up.

He was crossing the third intersection, and the same store they’d been to earlier when a drop of rain landed on his shoulder. He blinked at it for a second, then another drop landed on his nose. It steady picked up to a light drizzle, creating a thin layer of moisture on his clothes.

He ground his teeth together against the chill, focusing on the good aspects of the rain. It would hide his scent if they tried to track him.

Yet another car drove by, Stiles expected them to keep going, just like the other cars had done, but this one began to slow. It’s brake lights blinding him. He brought a hand up to shield his eyes. He just needed to keep walking and ignore whoever it was. 

The Camaro came to a complete stop in the lane. 

Stiles looked across the street, would it be too suspicious if he crossed and kept walking? He was already close to the vehicle. If he was going to cross he should have done it by now. He lowered his head and came level with the back bumper. 

The passenger window rolled down and his heart skipped a beat.

A dark haired woman sat in the driverseat, leaning over to speak to him through the window. “Do you need a ride?” She frowned in concern.

Stiles forced a smile back. “No, thanks.” So much for ignoring them. He kept walking. 

Camaro Lady eased off the break, rolling next to him. “It’s cold and rainy. Where are you headed, I can give you a lift.”

“No, thanks,” Stiles repeated, biting on the insides of his cheeks to keep his teeth from chattering. There wasn’t much he could do about the full body tremors though. “Just going to the bus station.” It wasn’t a total lie, he needed to get to some kind of station, bus or train in order to continue his journey East.

“The closest bus station is miles up the road.” She pulled her phone out, typing something on the screen that he couldn’t see. “Five miles, actually.”

Oh, she must have looked it up. “Fresh air’s good for me.” His heart sank further. Five miles would take him at least an hour and a half, maybe more if he slowed down in the rain. 

“Stiles?”

He froze, a cold rush of adrenaline pinning him to the spot. He slowly turned to look at her.

Her eyes widened at his reaction, but she quickly schooled her expression. “Please get in, you’ll get sick in this weather.”

He shook his head. “Will you take me to the bus station?”

Her expression faltered and he took a step back, soggy grass squished beneath his sneakers, slowly filling them with water. He glanced behind him, there was a grass embankment leading down to the store parking lot. He’d never be able to outrun her, even without a car any wolf was faster than a human.

“Stiles, please, I want to help you.” 

Stiles shook his head again, though she really did sound concerned for him. More lies. He backed farther away. 

She hadn’t gotten out of the car yet and he’d already put at least a dozen feet between them. He neared the top of the grass hill, deciding one more step would be safe before he turned around to try to find a way down.. 

His foot made contact with the mud and it slid out from under him. He gasped, throwing his arms out to try and offset the fall, but it was too late, the momentum sent him backwards, tumbling down the hill in a tangle of arms and legs. 

The last thing he saw was the woman jump from the car, cellphone pressed to her ear before he finally came to rest at the bottom. He turned his face into the grass, it was over, he was caught.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everyone! Thank you for all the love on that last chapter, it got a way bigger reaction than I was anticipating. And because I procrastinated doing what I needed to do this morning, and wrote instead, I'm posting again! :) To be honest, I wasn't expecting to post this much this fast, but I'm having a lot of fun writing it and writing a LOT. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the update.
> 
> ***Warnings at the end of the chapter***

From the time Peter’s phone rang with Laura’s incoming call, to the time they were dressed and out the door was under a minute. 

Peter opened Stiles’ bedroom door on their way down stairs, confirming what Laura frantically babbled over the phone. Stiles ran away. 

“I knew he was going to run.” Chris tossed several blankets, towels, and a first aid kit into the backseat of the car. 

Peter hummed in agreement getting into the passenger seat, still listening to Laura on the other end of the line giving them updates on Stiles’ condition.

“He’s awake but smells like pain.” Chris could hear Laura as well. “He’s sitting in the passenger seat of my car, shaking. I turned the heat up as high as it could go.” Her voice wobbled, shaken from what just occurred. “He’s just staring.”

“He does that,” Peter assured. “What’s his heartbeat doing?” 

Chris frowned, pulling out of the garage, it’d be nice if Stiles spoke more. Maybe someday.

The line went silent as Laura listened. “It’s pretty fast, but steady. He seems to be breathing alright too.” There was a brief pause. “Uncle Peter, he’s terrified, every time I get close to him he freaks out more. I’m by the trunk, I’m trying to give him space.”

“It’s alright.” Peter said gently, trying to calm her down before she got more worked up. “We’re glad you spotted him and called us.”

“Alright,” Laura said, unsure.

Chris had known Stiles was going to run since the first time he met the kid in the interrogation room. He could smell it on him, beneath the scent of fear and anxiety. Though, he did think he was going to run on the first night at the house. 

He took a steady breath trying to ease his nerves. 

Laura’s call had rattled them all. Neither he nor Peter realized Stiles had even left the house.

Peter had called Talia yesterday morning and warned her Stiles was most likely going to run. She’d asked the rest of the Hale pack to keep an eye out for him, and thankfully she had. Most of the pack lived within the city limits of Beacon Hills and worked various shifts, at any given point in the day at least three of them were out and about.

Chris looked at the clock on the dash. Laura was going to be late for work if she hadn't called out already. And he would need to call Jordan as soon as he got to the station to place Stiles on the Flight Risk list. 

Similar to how the pack was keeping an eye out for him, marking him as a Flight Risk would make sure every police officer knew what he looked like and if they saw him and suspected him of running, they would bring him into the station. From there, they would contact Chris. If Chris agreed it was fine, they’d release him. If not, he’d go pick him up.

It kind of sucked, Chris acknowledged. He was supposed to be building trust with Omegas, but as common as it was to need to put them on the list, he never told any of them. It was for their safety after all, he told himself. Without building bonds they were sure to die. This was just an extra precaution and the lesser of two evils. 

The Camero came into view quickly, cast in a bright yellow light from the streetlights and Chris’ headlights. 

Laura was standing by the trunk like she said she was, the passenger door to the car open. From where Chris pulled up he could just see Stiles’ legs hanging out the side.

Chris stopped the car, turning off his lights. 

Laura hung up the phone, letting her hand fall to her side. She was caked in mud, Chris realized, her usually pristine hair wild and out of place with what looked like a twig sticking out of her ponytail.

She walked toward them. “I don’t- I just.” She ran a hand over her head, wincing when she felt the stick. She yanked it out. “I don’t know how to help him, and I’m making the situation worse.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I didn’t mean to scare him. I was just trying to help.”

Peter got out, holding his arms out.

Laura rushed toward him, pulling him into a crushing hug. 

“He’ll be okay.” Peter kissed the top of her head.

Chris opened the back door, grabbing the blankets and towels. He passed between the two cars on his way to the open passenger door, leaving Peter to comfort Laura. 

Stiles sat hunched over sideways on the seat, his legs dangling from the car. He didn’t move at Chris’ approach.

He was covered in more mud than Laura. Chris only spotted a few patches of color from his clothes, and his face, hair, and arms were caked. He smiled softly. “Hey.”

Stiles’ grip tightened around his wrist where he was holding it.

It took Chris a second to realize what was missing. The bracelet. He schooled his features, trying not to allow his shock to show. Those bracelets weren’t meant to be taken off easily, Isaac had managed once with a knife, that had almost ended in a serious accident. He and Peter didn’t keep scissors lying around the house, usually they used their claws for everything. The thought of Stiles with something sharp near his wrist made him shudder. 

“I didn’t think you’d cut the bracelet off.” Chris admitted, realizing he’d been quiet for too long. He knelt next to the car, gently taking Stiles’ hand and bringing the edge of the towel up to wipe away the mud. 

Stiles tensed but didn’t pull away.

Chris tried not to frown as he began cleaning off his arm.

Physical touch was something all wolves craved, and it was one of the best ways to encourage bonds. He thought back to the panic attack in the bedroom, continuing to clean Stiles off. Stiles struggled to escape Chris’ touch, it didn’t help when Stiles threw himself to the side and Chris had no choice but to hold onto him or let him brain himself on the bookshelf. 

Stiles reacting negatively to touch was disheartening in more ways than one. It made Chris want to hurt whoever had hurt Stiles to the point of making him react like this. 

He didn’t linger as he finished wiping the majority of mud off one arm. When he reached the edge of Stiles’ short sleeve shirt, he numbly held out the other arm. Stiles’ head was still hung and cast in shadows so Chris couldn’t see what his face.

The smell of earth slowly faded with the more mud Chris got off, and he began to smell other things, mostly fear.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Chris said, holding the towel out for Stiles to wipe his face. “Neither is Peter, or anyone else in Beacon Hills.”

Stiles swallowed, worrying the towel between his fingers instead of wiping his face. Slowly, he brought his head up, eyes hard and guarded. “That’s where we are? Beacon Hills?”

The smile slipped from Chris’s face. “Yes. I’m sorry.” He meant it. “I thought you knew.”

Stiles wiped the side of his face, a thousand yard stare glossing over his eyes. 

Laura left just before they did. She’d calmed down and wished them all a good morning before heading home to go back to sleep. 

Chris could relate. He glanced at Stiles in the backseat of the car, wrapped up in every blanket and clean towel he brought, shivering.

Peter turned the heat up, adjusting the vents so they were pointed back at him. 

“I smell blood,” Peter said, pitching his voice low enough that Stiles couldn’t hear it over the air.

Chris sniffed. He could only smell the dirt and alternating fear and rage. Admittedly though, Peter’s nose was better than his. “How much?”

Deaton’s office wouldn’t be open for another couple hours, but it wouldn’t be the first time Chris needed to wake the doctor in the comfort of his home. 

Peter took another breath. “Not much, scratches most likely.”

“He didn’t say anything about being hurt,” Chris muttered.

“Did he say anything at all?” Peter lifted an eyebrow at him.

“I think he recognized the name of Beacon Hills.” Chris tapped his fingers against the wheel.

“Now that’s interesting. Why do you think that?”

Not many people lived in the town, and it wasn’t exactly known for its tourist attractions. Most people drove right past it without stopping or giving it a second thought. 

“His expression.” Chris squinted at the road. “He looked, guarded.”

“And that means he recognizes the name?” Peter asked, skeptically.

Chris shrugged. 

They pulled into the driveway, then into the garage. Chris turned off the engine and turned to Stiles. “Ready?”

Stiles’ heartbeat spiked and he looked down, clumsily pulling his limbs from the blanket cocoon. He followed Chris solemnly into the house. By the time they stepped from the laundry room into the living room, Stiles was shaking from head to toe, clutched the blankets around his shoulders. He stopped next to Chris, when he stopped by the couch, tilting his head to expose his neck in submission.

Chris shot Peter a concerned look, then looked back at Stiles. “There’s no need for that. Come on, chin up.” He tried to make his voice light and friendly, but even he could hear the worried tone that crept into it. 

Stiles didn’t move at first, then slowly lifted his head, still shaking.

“Where are you hurt?” Chris asked.

Stiles blinked, confused by the question. His brow furrowed and his lips turned into thin lines. 

Chris hadn’t seen any scrapes on Stiles’ arms when he cleaned them off in the car. But he had tumbled down the hill so they could be virtually anywhere. It didn’t look like his jeans were torn, but it was hard to tell beneath the mud. Now that they were inside Chris could smell the bitter tang of blood that Peter detected in the car. 

Stiles chewed on his bottom lip and stared at the rug. The anger in the air returned, along with a brief flash of pain.

“It’ll get infected if we don’t clean it,” Chris tried. “You can do it yourself if you’d like.” That part was difficult to say. All of his training, along with every experience, and pact instinct screamed at him to do it for Stiles, to help him, to _fix_ it, make it better. But Stiles was proving to be a slightly different case then he had in the past.

Chris had covered the basics right off the bat, which were actually just common courtesies, making sure Stiles had access to food and water so he didn’t feel like he was scavenging. He tried to offer comfort, necessities, and entertainment to show him everything was going to be okay. Usually that was enough to allow bonds to form.

Usually.

He was trying to be mindful to give Stiles space. Stiles hadn’t picked out anything personal at the store, he also hadn’t noticed Peter warning the teenager to back up. He ate less than half of the food provided, Chris bit his tongue; at least he drank water, he thought wearily. 

But Stiles had only been with them a day. And a day was hardly anything to undo potential months of abuse, so Chris waited in the silence of the living room for a response.

Peter crossed the room into the kitchen, flicking on the lights as he passed them, muttering, “I’m making coffee.”

“I think I have scratches on my back,” Stiles told the floor.

“You think?” Chris prompted, worried that he was hurt somewhere else as well and didn’t realize it yet.

Stiles jerked his shoulders in a shrug. “It stings. In the middle.”

“Okay.” Chris held up the first aid kit he’d brought in from the car, offering it out to him.

Stiles stared at it, then back at Chris, a silent war of conflict flashing across his face. Finally his angry expression crumbled. “I don’t think I can reach. But I want to try,” he added hastily, expression filling with hope that Chris might let him do it himself.

Chris nodded. “Okay,” he said again. “Why don’t you go shower, rinse off all the mud you can, and try. Then if you need help, Peter and I will be down here.”

Stiles nodded wearily, taking the first aid kit from him and walking toward the stairs.

Chris met Peter in the kitchen, listening as the coffee pot gurgled and hissed. They were going to need more than one pot.

Chris nursed the cup of coffee trying to tune out the hisses of pain Stiles made upstairs. He winced, focusing on the table and Peter sitting next to him. “Did you thank Laura for calling us?”

Peter hummed an affirmative into his own mug. “Yes, she compared him to Isaac.”

Chris huffed. “I’m not surprised.”

“She wants to have a pack night soon.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Chris set his mug down on the table. “Not with how he’s reacting to people in general.”

“That’s what I told her.” Peter blew into his cup.

“I’m telling Jordan to put him on as a Flight Risk. I think he’s going to try to run again.”

“I’d be surprised if he didn’t.” They fell into silence, then Peter added, “Be careful bringing him back repeatedly.”

Chris frowned, looking up quickly, but before he could ask what Peter meant by that he noticed the gentle shuffling of bare feet on the steps and Stiles appeared around the corner in clean clothes. He had his arms crossed in front of him, holding the first aid kit, head hung in defeat. 

“I couldn’t reach the ones on my back,” he said softly.

“That’s alright,” Chris stood and motioned toward the couch. “Why don’t you take a seat.”

Stiles nodded, shuffling toward the furniture until he could sit perched on the edge, poised for flight. He turned away as Chris approached, gently tugging his shirt over his head, wadding it in a ball in his lap.

Chris froze.

Peter stood up from his seat in the kitchen, a low growl rumbling in his chest. 

Chris wanted to look at him, but he couldn’t look away. He expected to see a scratch, which there were a few of, along with an array of bruising, but what made the air rush from his lungs were the scars. 

He could see individual claw marks criss crossing across Stiles’ back. Some were raised and jagged, while others smooth and pale. 

He swallowed, trying to make himself able to breathe. Even Omegas shouldn’t have that many injuries. He could tell they were older, but that begged the question of how long had Stiles been unable to heal quickly. Whoever had done this to him had to have known he’d fallen into an Omega status. 

Rage built in him. Who the _hell_ would do that to anybody?

“Is it bad?” Stiles asked, glancing quickly over his shoulder.

Chris froze. Yes it was bad, someone used him to sharpen their claws. His gaze landed on the recent scratches. They looked insignificant in comparison. 

“No,” he said, the scratches weren’t bad. They’d most likely heal without incident, but he grabbed the antibiotic ointment anyway, it was best to err on the side of caution.

Chris touched his back as lightly as possible, but Stiles still tensed under the ministrations. When he was done he repositioned the blankets over him, and turned on the TV, handing Stiles the remote. 

Stiles accepted it but didn’t change the channel off of the documentary that was playing. He glanced at Chris’ mug of coffee he’d left in the kitchen, a frown forming on his face. “Why do you have a tea bag in your coffee?”

Chris turned, he could see the tea bag string hanging over the side. “It’s wolfsbane,” he said, “mixed with other herbs. It lowers our immune system to allow caffeine to pass into our bodies.”

“Doesn’t it hurt you?” Stiles blurted, for a moment he smelled concerned, then the scent was gone.

“The more bitter the drink, the less we taste it. Coffee and alcohol are the most common drinks of choice. It’s not openly sold in stores though, so we try to limit ourselves.”

Stiles nodded, accepting that answer. He rolled onto his side, facing the TV. 

The narrator's voice filled the room and Chris rejoined Peter in the kitchen. 

Peter was facing away from him, cutting vegetables for soup.

Chris wrapped his arms around his waist, burying his face in Peter’s shoulder and breathing in his familiar scent, letting it ground him. Snarling about the wolves who hurt Stiles might make him feel better, but it wouldn’t do much to help the situation and would probably scare Stiles, who had only just started to relax.

Peter turned his head, pressing a kiss into Chris’ temple. “I could see the scars from here. They’ve been there for a while.”

“Someone _knew_ he was an Omega and still hurt him.” Chris pressed his face into the crook of Peter’s neck. “He’s worse off than Isaac was. It’s no wonder he hasn’t reacted well to us.” A wave of sadness crashed over him. 

“He’ll come around,” Peter said, though his tone didn’t sound sure. He tossed the vegetables into a pot on the stove and dumped in a container of vegetable stock. Once the soup was on low, he cast a glance at the figure on the couch. “Talk to me in the office?”

Chris frowned at the odd request but nodded, pulling away enough for Peter to step around him. Stiles didn’t stir when they went upstairs, his heartbeat had evened out and Chris wondered if he’d started dozing.

They crossed the upstairs living room and Peter opened the office door, allowing Chris to pass first.

“I’m concerned about you putting him on as a Flight Risk.” Peter said once the door was fully closed. Chris opened his mouth but Peter pressed on, “Those scars are clearly old. I’d be willing to bet he’s been an Omega longer than any other wolf that you’ve helped. He was smart enough to get away from whoever had him before, and outsmarted us last night. How long was he gone before Laura called? If he keeps getting dragged back here, what’s the difference between us and the people who had him before.”

“We’re not hurting him.” Chris folded his arms across his chest, “We’re keeping him _safe_.”

“Physically, we aren’t hurting him,” Peter corrected. “Mentally, he’s going to be just as exhausted and jumpy, thinking we’re going to hurt him too-”

“But we won’t!” 

“I know that! _You_ know that. This isn’t a couple months of neglect, Christopher. You know Omega’s main cause of death is injury and illness, very rarely does the status itself lead to death. Omega’s who were once Beta’s think they can still jump off the same roof that they did before. Or run faster than the car speeding down the street. Whatever Stiles has done to survive, has worked.” Peter took a breath, taking in Chris’ growingly furious expression. “I don’t know that he’s going to stop trying to leave. I heard about what he did in San Francisco at the gas station, and again at SFPD, and the police department here. He’s been outsmarting wolves for awhile. And to him, we’re just more wolves.”

“So what do you suggest?” Chris asked dryly, Peter made some good points, and he knew he needed to hear Peter’s whole thought process before passing judgement on his mates suggestion. 

Chris’ eyes burned and he rubbed them. They were both tired and he could feel his claws trying to descend in frustration. Now wasn’t the best time to have this conversation.

“If there’s going to be any chance of us helping him, it needs to be his choice,” Peter said flatly.

“He’ll leave, and _die_ if we give him a choice!”

“We can offer a time frame— six months with us, and if he still doesn’t feel like he’s bonding with anyone, he can walk out, no strings attached.” Peter glanced at the stack of papers on the desk, then to the wall of bookshelves. 

“No,” Chris ground out. “He’ll walk out.” He shook his head. He couldn’t lose someone else.

“If he hasn’t bonded with anyone by then, he has the same chance of dying with or without us. He’s only been here twenty four hours, yes, but he’s been doing _this_ , trying to escape, for a long time.”

“We will protect him.” A long grow rumbled up from Chris’ chest. 

“And he’ll be miserable thinking we’re holding him hostage.” Peter’s eyes flashed a bright red.

Chris snarled. “You just want him out of the house so we can have it to ourselves again.”

Peter took a step back, back straightening in a challenge.

Chris’ mouth fell open, heart stuttering. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You think I don’t care about him?” Peter demanded, fangs dropping over his lower lip.

“I know you care about him!” Chris turned away, focusing his gaze on the stack of books on the lowest shelf. “I saw what you did at the store, I saw you turn the heat up in the car, prepare meals, I _know_ you care.” Tears of exhaustion and frustration filled his eyes. “I can’t lose another one Peter. I’m sorry.”

Hands came to rest on Chris’ hips, tugging him into a tight hug. Peter pressed his nose against Chris’ jaw, the light brush of his breath against his skin made Chris relax into his grip. 

“You’re not losing him if he chooses to leave. He’s not like Allison.” Chris tensed and Peter continued gently, “If he leaves, you still gave him the tools that he needed to form bonds and he decided for whatever reason, he didn’t want them. It means he feels confident enough to go out on his own and survive like he has been. The six month period is just so we can try our way first.”

Chris turned his head, focusing on the last part of his statement. “Our way?”

Peter caught his lips in his. “ _Our_ way.” He growled.

Chris sighed, “He won’t agree to six months, even if we explain. Hell, he probably won’t believe us.”

“We’ll talk to him about it, offer him Pack Protection during that time.”

“He has that anyway,” Chris snapped. 

“Yes, but he does he know that?” 

Chris met Peter’s gaze. No, chances were Stiles didn’t know he was being protected by the pack, especially since he didn’t even know what town he was in.

“If we can get enough information, I’ll go after the assholes who hurt him myself.” Peter kissed Chris’ jaw. “I’ll throw them in jail to rot.”

Chris hummed, the kisses felt nice. “Can you talk me out of jail if I kill them?”

“Of course, darling.”

Downstairs, Stiles started coughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Warnings*** Allusions to Minor Character Death, this will be explored deeper in later chapters, so if this is a trigger for you, please tread carefully.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos!! :) They make me so happy. I'm glad everyone seems to be enjoying it <3
> 
> Happiness is coming soon for our boys, I promise. :D

Stiles woke up around eleven. Chris turned around from the chili he had on the stove. 

Stiles’ face was paler than it had been that morning. “Bathroom?” he croaked.

Chris pointed to the door, “Next to the laundry room.”

Stiles bolted off the couch, the blankets tangled around his legs, nearly pitching him forward. He barely made it to the bathroom before he was sick. 

Chris pulled last of the leftover soup from the fridge. He’d need to call Deaton for some Pedialyte. 

Stiles shuffled back to the couch, shoulders hunched, hanging his head. Chris could see him trembling as he pulled the blankets on. He didn’t need a thermometer to tell him Stiles had a fever. 

Chris warmed the soup and dumped it in a mug before walking over to where Stiles was huddled on the couch. 

He took it with a soft, “Thanks.”

Chris returned to the kitchen, stirring the chili to make sure it didn’t burn and listening as Peter finished whatever he was working on in the office. 

“Stiles’s sick,” Chris said at the first creak of the stairs. 

Peter paused on the third step. “So he is.”

Stiles nursed the cup of soup between hacking coughs, looking over the back of the couch when he heard Peter near the bottom.

“Did you call Deaton?” Peter asked.

“Not yet,” Chris admitted. “He’s just going to say wait a couple of days to see what happens. Or if Stiles gets bad.” Chris dropped the plastic spoon into the pot, ignoring the splatter. They’d been through this with Isaac a couple times already. 

Peter didn’t look at Stiles as he stepped into the kitchen, but Chris could tell by the angle of his head he was scenting and listening to him. A worried frown creased his forehead.

Chris could hear it too, a steady crackling of mucus in Stiles’ lungs. 

“Satomi called.” Peter sat at the table, turning in the chair so he could see Chris and where Stiles sat on the couch.

“Ito?” Chris set the soup to simmer, looking around for dishes.

“She’s the only Satomi we know.”

“That’s fair.”

“John wants to come back.”

Chris dropped the bowls he’d started pulling from the cabinet, just managing to snatch them up again before they shattered against the counter. “What?” He set the bowls down slightly harder then he meant to, turning to face Peter completely.

Peter nodded, his eyes trained on the back of the couch. “He put in a formal request to be put back under Hale Pack Protection.”

“Is that...wise?” Chris asked, careful to keep his tone low so Stiles wouldn’t be disturbed.

“No idea,” Peter shrugged. “He used to be happy here.”

“Yeah,” Chris said warily, “but that was before….”

Peter shrugged again. “Talia wants me to start the legal matters of transferring a human. The earliest he’ll be back is early summer.” 

The few humans remaining in the world were placed under Pack Protect, like he and Peter had planned on offering Stiles. It gave humans the freedom of wolves to move about the town and do whatever they please, but there was almost always someone keeping an eye on them from a distance. Even the slightest threat to a resident human would cause bloodshed. 

“Did he say why?” Chris dished out the chili, last he heard John was happy in Arizona.

“He said Phoenix wasn’t home, and he just wants to come back. It’s been years since he left.”

Chris set the bowls on the table. It was unfortunate humans were treated as property and the legal hoops that allowed them to move from place to place were a hassle to jump through. Unfortunately there were still wolves out in the world who like to hunt and hurt them. 

He slid into an empty seat at the table. “You’re already working on Isaac’s case, won’t that be too much at once?” He listened as Stiles’ breathing evened out into sleep.

“The case is basically over. There was no way we could pin the Blackburns with reckless killing. And they’ve claimed that the land is rightfully theirs since Isaac wasn’t present at the time of the challenge.”

“They’d have killed him if he was.” 

Peter pointed the tip of his spoon at him. “There’s no way to prove that. They’re also saying since he wasn’t competent enough at the time of the first trial to ask for the land back, that enough time has passed that if he wanted it, he’ll need to formally challenge them.”

Chris winced. It wasn’t like Isaac had anything to do with his condition. He was the victim, and the land should rightfully be his. 

“I’m filing an appeal this week.” Peter took a bite of the food and set his spoon down. “One of the worst parts is that something similar happened with the Martells and Moishures. Land disputes with one of the Blackburns turned into a challenge, and death in a challenge over property is still allowed. Both pack Alpha’s were killed, the members that did submit to Alpha Blackburn were absorbed into their pack. The rest were killed in ‘self defense’.” Disbelief dripped from Peter’s tone.

Chris agreed with him. It was definitely suspicious, but there was nothing to tie the Blackburns to Misuse Of Pack Power to gain territory and pack members. None of the people the Blackburns absorbed would speak ill against them, and that made the pit in Chris’ stomach grow. 

He laid his hand on top of Peter’s comfortingly.

Stiles slumped off to bed while Chris was making dinner. The coughing fits had grown more frequent, and now Stiles was breathing in short, shallow breaths, presumably to make it so he wouldn’t have to cough as much. “If he can’t breathe better by tomorrow morning, I’m calling Deaton for a house visit.”

Peter stared at the wall between them and the stairs, tracking Stiles’ movement. “Probably wise.”

Chris woke up to the sound of Stiles getting sick at midnight. 

He laid in bed, not opening his eyes, waiting to see if Stiles was going to go back to bed, or if he needed something. 

The bathroom light clicked off and Stiles went back to his room.

At one thirty Stiles was in the bathroom again.

At two, the bathroom door banged against the wall and the light didn’t even turn on.

Chris got out of bed.

Peter opened an eye, his arm slung loosely over his face blocked his expression. “Want me to call Deaton?”

“Maybe.” Chris stepped toward the door. “I’m going to check on him, I’ll let you know.” He stepped from the room, dodging furniture from habit as he closed the distance to the bathroom.

The door was ajar. A quick check of the dark room confirmed the fast hummingbird heartbeat and fiery scent of _Stiles_. 

He knocked on the door. 

Stiles’ breathing was labored, but a soft reply came. Chris could hardly count it a reply at all, but the took the grunt as an invitation to come in and stepped across the threshold. 

Stiles sat on the ground, legs twisted beneath him, barely holding him up. He blinked uncomprehendingly at Chris, his cheeks flushed and covered in a thin sheet of sweat despite his shivering.

Chris opened one of the lower cabinets, pulling out mouthwash. He helped Stiles stand, holding him steady by the elbow as he washed the taste from his mouth. By the time he was finished he was leaning so heavily into Chris that he was supporting most of his weight. Which wasn’t much.

“Let’s get you back to bed.” Chris guided him from the bathroom, making sure to go slow. Each step to his room took a lot of effort, and Stiles’ heart pounded by the time Chris helped him sit on the edge of the mattress. He pulled the comforter back, allowing Stiles to swing his legs up onto the bed. 

Stiles reached out for the blanket Chris was holding. 

Chris laid it gently on top of him. The extra heat from having the blanket on was bad for his fever. He placed the back of his hand lightly on Stiles’ forehead. His face felt warm, even to him. 

Omegas body temperatures were cooler than Betas or Alphas, the fact that he felt warm to _Chris_ was a bit more than concerning.

“I’m fine,” Stiles croaked, tugging the comforter pointedly up to his chin.

“If your temperature gets too high it can be dangerous,” Chris cautioned.

“I know how fevers work.” Stiles buried his face into the blanket, letting out a long, wet, cough.

A flash of red on the blanket caught Chris’ eye, he picked up the bracelet. It was still in tact, he realized, stuffing it into the pocket of his sleep pants. That was new.

Chris listened to the crackling of Stiles’ lungs and left the room. He’d left his phone on the nightstand in his bedroom. This wasn’t like the simple fever Isaac had had. 

Peter was sitting up against the headboard when Chris reentered the room, a knowing look on his face. 

Chris smiled sympathetically as Peter yawned and stretched. Another sleepless night. But that’s why they had coffee. 

He skipped through his contacts until he found Deaton’s number and pressed call. 

Deaton arrived faster than Chris anticipated. The soft rumble of the Honda brought back dozens memories of incidents where Deaton had been called to the house. Chris stamped them down and opened the front door when he heard him step on the front porch.

Deaton nodded in greeting, stepping into the house. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Chris repeated.

Peter rumbled something that sounded like a greeting from his spot by the stairs. 

“How fast was the onset of his illness?” Deaton asked, walking easily through the house until he got to the kitchen. He set his bag on the table, unzipping it to look inside.

Chris listened to the soft clanks and rattle of things as Deaton reached into the bag. “I’m not sure. He was sick a couple days ago when I first met him, but I thought that was from stress. He constantly smells tired, but then he ran last night in the rain and cold.”

“That could have sped up the process if he was coming down with something already.” Deaton pulled a couple of bottles from his bag and handed them to Chris. “Gatorade and Pedialyte, give him whichever he will drink. I heard about last night.”

Peter stiffened, crossing his arms. “How?”

Chris looked at him, neither of them had told anyone anything.

“Scott came to work talking about it. Said Laura told Cora, who told Isaac. The version I heard was that he outran both of you and made a dive down an embankment to escape, only to be saved by Laura.” Deaton threw each of them a look that said he didn’t agree with that version of events.

Peter snorted. “Hardly accurate.”

“I thought so.” Deaton zipped his bag, pill bottles and a thermometer in his free hand. “He upstairs?”

Chris glanced at the medicine containers, taking a second to wonder how Deaton knew what to grab before he saw Stiles. “Yes. I’ll go first, let him know you’re on your way up.”

He climbed the stairs, listening as Peter and Deaton hung back. He crossed the room to Stiles’ door and slowly pushed it open. 

Stiles was completely hidden beneath the nest of blankets. 

“Stiles?” Chris asked, easing up to the side of the bed.

The corner of the blanket pulled back, and Stiles glared at him. “What?”

“Dr. Deaton’s here to see you.” He could hear Deaton and Peter making their way up the stairs now. 

“I’m _fine_.”

“Clearly.” Chris sat on the edge of the bed, resisting the urge to place his hand on Stiles’ leg to comfort him. He knew it would only have the opposite effect. “He’s here to help.”

Stiles huffed and didn’t say anything as Deaton appeared in the doorway with Peter half a step behind him. 

“Good morning,” Deaton greeted like he had when he entered the house. “You must be Stiles.”

Stiles glowered at him. Deaton was not deterred. He placed the medicine on the nightstand and held the thermometer out to Stiles. “Can I start with your temperature?”

Stiles took it, placing it under his tongue. It was hard for him to not cough long enough for it to work. By the time the device finally beeped that it was done, Stiles turned away, coughing into the covers. 

Deaton glanced at the temperature and nodded like that was the answer he’d expected all along. 

Chris looked between Stiles and Deaton, waiting for the doctor to share his verdict. 

Deaton glanced at the second hand on his watch, counting Stiles’ pulse and respirations. Ah, he wasn’t done yet. 

“It sounds like pneumonia,” Deaton said, pausing as he still listened to the crackling. “In the left lung.” He picked up one of the containers of medicine he brought upstairs. “This is an antibiotic,” he told Stiles. “Take one of these a day for seven days. You’ll start to feel more like yourself after two or three days but take it for the full week or else you might get sick again.”

Stiles looked bewildered when Deaton handed him the container, glancing nervously at Chris, and then Peter. 

“This,” Deaton held out a second container. “Is Tylenol, it’s a pain reliever and fever reducer. Don’t exceed more than eight pills in twenty four hours.” He picked up the last container but didn’t hand it over explaining, “You don’t need this one; I was just over prepared.”

“Thank you,” Chris said, offering Stiles the Pedialyte and Gatorade. 

He took the Gatorade, fingers trembling as he unscrewed the cap. 

“No trouble at all.” Deaton stood, turning to Stiles. “I hope you feel better soon.”

Stiles frowned, fumbling with the medicine caps. “Thanks.”

Peter left the room with Deaton, showing the man out despite his protests. Chris waited until Stiles took the antibiotic and Tylenol, shakily setting them on the nightstand when he was done.

“Try to get some rest. Let me know if you need anything.” Chris said, satisfied now that Stiles had taken the medicine.

Stiles grunted, flopping back against the pillows. 

Chris curled and uncurled his fingers, mentally berating himself for feeling the need to touch to comfort. There were _other_ ways to do that. He got up, walking from the room and pulling the door almost all the way shut.

Something poked his leg and he stopped, recalling the bracelet he’d stuffed in his pocket earlier. He pulled it free, examining it. It wasn’t cut like he assumed earlier. How did Stiles know how to get it off?

He detoured toward the library where he heard Peter’s heartbeat. 

Peter sat in an olive green armchair next to the window, a thick book open and abandoned in his lap, staring out the window.

The sky outside was just starting to change colors, filling the room with a low orange light. 

Chris turned on the lamp, taking the seat opposite Peter. He ran his fingers over the band like he’d seen Stiles do the other morning. 

“He take the medicine?” Peter asked, glancing up at Chris’ approach.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Peter nodded once, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair, and placing his chin in his hand. 

“Stiles got the warning bracelet off.”

“So did Isaac,” Peter said. Then added thoughtfully, “And Erica. She threw hers at me.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Chris’ mouth at the memory. “They both cut theirs off, though.” He tossed the band onto Peter’s lap. “What do you make of that?”

Peter threw him a mock glare, then picked up the item, turning it over in his fingers. He set it on the arm of the chair. “They do have safety releases, anything thin and sturdy enough would be able to open the clasp.” Peter didn’t move his eyes from where he set the band. Chris could see the proverbial wheels of thought clicking. “What is interesting, is he had the presence of mind to notice it and get it off.”

“Most Omegas are running so high on fight or flight small details slip their mind,” Chris agreed, but Stiles had proven multiple times now he was more than capable of noticing the smaller things.

Peter handed the bracelet back to him. “He used the radio to cover his movements.”

“Left his clothes by the door to make his scent linger,” Chris added, taking the item.

Peter pressed his lips together. “When we talk to him about staying we should bring the bracelet up, too.”

“ _After_ he feels better.”

“Of course. But, if he doesn’t want to wear it we can suggest he stays closer to us than if he has it on. Most people in Beacon Hills know your line of work. If he wants to go off and wander, he risks running into someone from out of town, and that could potentially be bad. But if he does wear it, it shouldn’t be a problem; it’s a universal symbol.”

Chris frowned, acknowledging that giving Stiles the option would be best. “He’s going to want to wander _without_ it.”

Peter hummed uncertainty. “Perhaps. But he was practically glued to your side in the store when the girl got too close. He may not like me,” Chris opened his mouth to interject but Peter continued over him, “or anyone else, but he tolerates you. He seeks you out when he feels scared.”

“That’s just because I sprung him from an interrogation room.”

“It’s ultimately what we want,” Peter said. “We want him to trust us, so he needs to have a little bit more freedom. We need to show him we trust him.”

Chris chewed on his bottom lip, stuffing the bracelet back in his pocket. 

“Besides, I have it on good authority that springing people from interrogation rooms leads to happy endings.” Peter smirked and Chris’ cheeks flushed.

“We are not having this conversation right now, Peter.” Chris stood, a quick check of his pockets indicated he still had his phone from when he called Deaton. “I’m going to wash the blankets downstairs.” He left, turning to go down the stairs.

The blankets Stiles had used yesterday were still on the couch, and most likely germ infested. Chris scooped them up on his way to the laundry room, resting them against his hip. 

The faint scent of earth and blood was a grim reminder of what could have happened.

He tossed them into the washer, choosing the largest setting. 

Jordan should be at work by now, he realized, pausing to check the time on his phone. 

He tossed a handful of the scented beads Isaac had left behind into the washer. Stiles seemed to like scented things, and the beads weren’t too far off from the flowery smelling soaps he had smelled at the store. 

Chris shut the lid to the washer, typing Jordan’s number into his phone from memory.

“Hello?”

“Hi Jordan, it’s Chris. I need to place Stiles on the Flight Risk list.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not done Typing the next chapter, but it's technically written, so here you go!! Enjoy :)
> 
> Also, you have no idea how badly I want to respond to all your comments, but I know myself, and if I respond I'm going to give things away. And there's not much fun in that X)
> 
> ***Warnings at the end of the chapter***

Stiles took short, shallow breaths. The shivering slowly subsided, but it was still hard to breathe without coughing. His ribs ached after each fit.

He laid still in the darkness, trying to pinpoint what had woken him. He twisted the edge of the blanket nervously. 

He didn’t need to turn around to hear the rain beat steadily against the windows and the occasional gust of wind rattling the panes. The rain storm made the room darker than before.

Then he heard it. A slightly harder tap against the window then the other raindrops. He stilled, glancing at the clock next to him. It was just after nine. 

He strained his ears, listening for the sound of Peter or Chris moving, but he could only hear the tapping, it was a steady beat that made his heart race. Like someone tapping on the window.

He closed his eyes, telling himself it was just the rain. But the images were already there in his mind. 

His head pounded and his stomach rolled, threatening to be sick again.

He could see Deuc peering in through the glass, tapping one long finger against it, a wide, cheshire grin across his face, eyes glowing a brilliant Alpha red. ‘I’m _here_.’ 

Stiles lurched from the bed, flying toward the bedroom door, he slipped through it, slamming it behind him. His heart pounded in his chest, ears ringing as he braced himself against it. Not that that would stop a wolf from busting it down, but it made him feel slightly better. 

_Tap, tap...tap_ , he could hear it through the door. 

The upstairs living room was empty and dark, the large picture windows along the one wall that didn’t have doors were streamed with rain, blocking his view to the outside. 

Where were Chris and Peter? If Deuc was here, that meant the others weren’t far behind. His breath hitched and pain lanced across his ribs. 

Images of Chris and Peter dead replaced the one of Deuc. They were sprawled across the floor, hearts ripped from their chest like Theo had done to that man years ago. Adding someone else to their list to kill wouldn’t be a big deal to them, just an inconvenience. 

The room began to spin. He slid down the door. He led them here. He was responsible for their deaths. 

“Stiles?”

He looked up at the sound of Peter’s voice, he stood just outside the bedroom door that he shared with Chris, frowning down at him.

Relief crashed over him. Peter was alright. He looked around, they had to find a spot to hide.

“Hey, look at me.” Peter was suddenly in front of him, squatting so they were eye to eye, but not touching. Stiles dragged his eyes up to meet his. “You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Stiles wanted to respond, he wanted to tell Peter to look outside, but his chest was too tight to form sentences. Tears filled his eyes. “Chris?”

“He’s asleep down stairs,” Peter said. “Do you want to go down there?”

Stiles nodded, clutching the front of his shirt, and dragging in a solid breath of air. They were alive. 

“Want me to help you?” Peter his hand out, palm up, and Stiles realized they were still on the floor.

Stiles stared at it. Neither one of them had tried to hurt him, and Peter was being nice right now. His hand looked soft, the skin smooth. But he knew those fingers could turn into claws faster than he could react. 

He looked across the room to the stairs, it looked far away. To get there, then go down all twelve steps sounded exhausting, but he wanted to make sure Chris was alright.

Tentatively, he placed his hand in Peter’s, curling his fingers around his. 

“What scared you?” Peter asked, gently pulling him to his feet.

Stiles wobbled, leaning more into Peter’s grip than he’d intended. “I thought they were here. Tapping on the window,” he said, still breathless. 

Peter stilled, Stiles could see all his muscles tensing and he had no doubt the man was searching for threats. 

The warmth from Peter’s hand warmed his own and he caught himself leaning toward him, shivering without the comfort of his blanket. 

“Come on,” Peter said gently, leading him across the room to the stairs. 

Stiles used Peter’s hand to steady himself with every step down, each one seemed to take three times the effort it should have. 

The living room gradually came into view, and Stiles saw Chris’ foot propped up on the arm of the couch, the rest of his body hidden by the back cushions.

Stiles’ heart began to race again. 

“Chris,” Peter said sharply.

Chris sat up quickly at his tone, looking around, dazed. He’d been asleep, not dead. That’s what Peter had told him

“What’s wrong?”

The same relief Stiles felt at seeing Peter, rushed through him again. Chris was alright. Deuc wasn’t here. The remaining knots in his chest loosened, falling away into nothing. 

He stepped off the base of the stairs, letting go of Peter’s hand as he continued around the couch. 

Peter said something quickly under his breath, and Chris turned to watch him get closer. He didn’t get up, and other than turning his head, he didn’t move. 

A TV show Stiles hadn’t seen played behind him, the actors voices sounded distant. “Are you okay?” Stiles asked, digging his nails into his palms. He couldn’t make himself reach out and touch Chris’ hand, but he wanted to, to see if reality matched what his eyes were showing him. 

“I’m alright,” Chris said warily. “Are _you_ okay?”

“I’m fine.” Stiles found himself saying that a lot lately. 

Chris glanced nervously at Peter, then back at Stiles, tugging his legs closer to his body so the farthest cushion was empty. “Want to have a seat?”

Stiles shuffled over and sat down, the cool fabric of the couch doing little to ward off the chill in his bones. He tucked his own feet beneath him, curling against the arm of the couch. Chris was alright. Peter was alright. Deuc, Kali, Theo, and Matt weren’t here. And that’s all that mattered. 

He shut his eyes, relaxing slightly. There wasn’t a dead body. 

The couch shifted next to him where Chris was sitting, but Stiles didn’t care, sleep was dragging him under.

He surfaced long enough to notice a blanket being draped over him, the material still warm from the dryer. He snuggled into it, a scent burst of flowers filled his nose. Vague memories of standing in a garden with the silhouette of a man replaced the ones of Deuc. He listened to his father laugh and felt the dirt run loosely through his finger tips. It was the closest thing to a happy memory he had.

The second time Stiles woke he was alert enough to realize he was facing the opposite direction he’d fallen asleep in and there was something warm beneath him. Some _one_ , he realized. 

Chris breathed deeply from sleep, one arm thrown off the side of the couch, the other limply resting around Stiles. He closed his eyes, too tired to make the trip back upstairs. Chris was okay. 

He was alone on the couch when he woke up the next morning. He laid on the cushions, neck propped up under a wad of blanket. He stretched, listening to Chris and Peter talking in the kitchen. It was something about Peter’s work, he wasn’t awake enough to care.

He cracked his eyes open against the bright sunlight. His medicine had been placed on the coffee table along with a fresh bottle of water. 

Once he’d sat up and taken them, Chris approached with a plate of toast. “Bacon’s probably not the best idea right now.” He smiled apologetically, setting the plate next to the water bottle.

“Thanks.” Stiles grabbed a piece of toast, watching numbly as crumbs fell onto his lap. He nibbled on the corner, setting it back down when the bite sat in his stomach like a rock. 

He dozed on and off all day, dimly watching the shows that played on TV. It was easier to relax with the sun up. 

He pulled the blanket tighter around him against the cold air creeping through the sliding glass doors. The scent of flowers hit him again and he stilled. A part of him had thought that the smell had just been in his head last night. He frowned at the blanket, that had been the only thing he’d moved.

“Something wrong?” Chris asked from his seat in the armchair.

Peter had vanished upstairs to get some work done. Which was fine with Stiles, he didn’t need _both_ of them hovering. Thankfully, neither mentioned last night, and he had no plans on bringing it up.

“Does the blanket smell like flowers to you?” Stiles asked, sniffing the fabric. Deuc and Kali didn’t like anything scented.

“Isaac enjoyed using scent beads in his laundry, I figured you’d enjoy them too.” Chris watched him carefully, gauging his reaction.

“Thank you.” Stiles took another sniff, then pushed it away, smelling the blanket probably seemed strange. 

“You’re welcome.”

Stiles flattened his hands against the material. “Does Isaac live here, too?” The house was big, and could probably fit four people easily, but most of the bedrooms had been converted into other rooms and as far as Stiles had seen, his room was the only other bedroom. 

“No.” Chris turned in his seat so he could face him. “Remember me telling you pack members can form minor packs within a larger one?”

Stiles nodded leaning over to pick up the gatorade bottle. 

“Isaac joined one of those packs. He’s still part of the Hale pack, though.”

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat and the bottle nearly slipped from his fingers. He was with the _Hales_? Deuc was going to be pissed. He swallowed, trying to hide the slip of his fingers by placing the bottle in his lap. 

According to Deuc, the Hales were ruthless. Not that he’d ever given much thought to Deuc’s stories. As far as he’d been concerned at the time, all wolves were bad.

He shoved the mental image of the half shifted, faceless, monsters from his mind. “You’re a Hale?”

“Only though my mate. The Hales accepted me into their pack like they did Isaac.” 

Peter’s a Hale then. Stiles frowned, “Did Isaac take a Hale as a mate?”

“No, you don’t _need_ to be mates to join a pack.”

“So he submitted.” Stiles peeled the label off the bottle. Fucking Alpha’s forcing others to submit to them. Theo and Deuc tried to make him submit once. They’d roared themselves blue before realizing their Alpha tones didn’t work on humans, but their claws did.

“Not quite,” Chris said, drawing Stiles’ attention back to him. “He formed pack bonds with other pack members, and he respects Talia, though he doesn’t always submit to her.” A small smile spread across his face. “They’ve butted heads a few times.”

Talia Hale. Damn, Stiles cursed himself, he should have recognized that when Chris mentioned Pack Alphas. Not that that would have changed his plans to run, but it would have been nice to know. “The lady who found me leaving. She’s a Hale?” He looked up questioningly. 

Chris nodded. “That was Laura, she’s Talia’s oldest child and next Alpha.”

“They know I’m here.” His voice wobbled and his throat itched, sending him coughing into his elbow.

“Peter told Talia, yes. It’s to keep you safe.”

Stiles let out a surprised laugh that made the cough worse. “Right,” he wheezed, resting his head against the back of the couch. A dull pounding was building in his skull and the coughing fit sent a pain shooting through his ribs. His gaze landed on the Tylenol on the coffee table, just out of reach. He needed a minute before he sat up to get it. He let his eyes slide shut, waiting for the pain to subside.

“Can I help you?” Chris asked.

Stiles blindly held his hand out, waiting for the feel of the pill bottle.

Chris’ hand closed around his and his head shot up, eyes flying open at the unexpected contact. 

Thick black lines trailed up Chris’ wrist, winding around his forearm, and all the aches in Stiles’ body faded. 

_Oh._

He stared at Chris, mouth slightly open. Since when could wolves do that?

Aches in his muscles he’d managed to tune out faded, and when Chris pulled his hand back, Stiles felt floaty. That was better than Tylenol. “Neat trick,” he muttered, curling back up against the couch, already starting to drift off.

He climbed the stairs to bed before the sun had set. With any luck he’d fall asleep while it was still light and wake up after the sun had risen.

He slept fitfully, waking up once to vomit after he swore he felt claws reopen the skin on his back. He huddled under the blankets, shivering until sleep enveloped him once more.

It wasn’t until he heard Chris get up for the day that he got up. He didn’t feel quite as achy and the urge to cough wasn’t as intense. He stretched, wincing when his ribs protested. 

He tugged on clean clothes and made his way slowly downstairs, medicine in hand. He needed more water to take them, he’d finished the bottle he took to bed with him last night.

“How’re you feeling?” Chris asked when he stepped into the kitchen.

“Functional.” He didn’t feel as sick as he had, but he certainly wasn’t a hundred percent better.

“Fair enough.” Chris stepped to the side, allowing Stiles access to the fridge and counter. He sat at the table, looking intensely at his phone.

Stiles paused, he’d seen Chris get the bottled water from the fridge, but he usually got it for him. He glanced at the fridge, was it alright if he got it himself? Chris did just sit down, it’d be rude to ask him to get back up, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t physically get it himself. 

He steeled himself, bracing himself for the backlash. He’d ran away and despite being caught and brought back, he hadn’t been punished. Was Chris really going to lose his shit if he opened the fridge?

He stepped toward it with the false confidence that got him through most situations, and tugged the door open, quickly grabbing a water and letting it swing shut. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

Chris smiled at his phone.

Stiles swallowed the medicine and went to the couch, reaching for the TV remote. 

He was engrossed in a documentary about foxes when Peter sat in the armchair next to him. He tilted his head back, looking at him from an angle. 

His jaw was set and he looked serious. It was possible, Stiles realized, they were only being nice to him because he was sick.

Peter didn’t say anything as he pulled out a book, and Stiles slowly went back to watching the show.

By the third day on the medicine Stiles felt like most of his energy had come back, and he was almost accustomed to Chris or Peter taking up residence in a chair next to him, no matter what room he inhabited. They never sat close enough to touch him, and never initiated conversation. The most they did was comment to each other or about something that had happened earlier, none of which required a response from him.

This morning though, he sat on his bed, legs hanging off the edge. This was the only room he wouldn’t acquire company.

He rolled the medicine container between his fingers, four days left. Then he’d be clear to make another escape. He didn’t want to risk getting sick again, and traveling with pills would be a red flag to anyone close enough to hear them rattle, or smell them. 

The last time he got sick, Deuc told him if he died it’d be one less mouth to feed because he wasn’t spending anything on medicine. It was expensive, and hard to come by. 

Stiles snorted, setting the containers on his nightstand. Why did Chris and Peter care enough to get it for him? Unless they expected him to pay it back…

He wasn’t paying back shit. The officers at San Francisco had taken his wallet, he didn’t have anything to give them. It’d be weeks before he could get enough cash to pay for it.

He understood Chris’ job was helping Omegas, and he probably felt this was part of his job, to try to fix him. But there would be no _fixing_ him, because he wasn’t a wolf.

Stiles chewed on the inside of his bottom lip. Maybe he was expected to join the Hale pack as repayment. The more members a pack had, the stronger they were—that’s what Deuc said. And that was part of the reason he hated the Hales, he said they were _too_ strong and needed to be knocked down a few pegs.

Chris and Peter were wasting their time on him, he thought sadly. Even if the stars aligned and he joined them, he didn’t bring the same power as Betas and Alphas did. All humans brought were bragging rights. 

What was interesting, was he’d ended up in Beacon Hills. When he heard Kali tell Matt the story of when she picked him up, that’s where she said she got him.

He couldn’t remember much before then. When he tried, the back of his neck tingled, and he could only see the vaguest images, people without faces, threads of emotion associated with smells. The faceless man in the garden was his favorite.

He ran a hand over the back of his neck. Deuc and Kali had something to do with his memories being messed up. He’d heard them telling Theo that it’d stop him from running. It did not. Stiles kept running. And he would get as far away as possible. 

His eyes fell on the growing pile of laundry against the wall, he’d need to figure out the washer and dryer situation soon. Deuc never let him do his own laundry, just tossed him his old clothes when he decided Stiles needed to change.

He stood, he had to have known the Hales at some point if he lived here before, and if they had been forced to take the memories away, they mustn’t have been bad ones. Since Peter and Chris didn’t recognize him, perhaps he wasn’t sold by the Hales to Kali.

A gentle knock on the door drew him from his thoughts. 

Chris stood in the doorway, watching him. “As much fun as sitting alone in silence is, I thought maybe you’d want to help me prepare lunch?”

Stiles blinked, debating with himself. Learning to cook would be nice, it’d help him one he was out on his own, too. He nodded, following Chris from the room. He briefly wondered if Chris ever got tired of being in the kitchen, it seemed like that’s where he was the majority of the day.

Chris set him up chopping cherry tomatoes in quarters. 

“We’re making a sauce to go on parmesan chicken,” Chris explained, setting several containers of spices on the counter. 

Stiles’ mouth watered, that sounded delightful.

Chris prepared the chicken breasts on a baking sheet, occasionally directing Stiles when to add the tomatoes to the pan and then the spices. He poked the lumpy mixture with a spatula. It didn’t look much like a sauce.

“It’ll reduce down as it cooks,” Chris said, catching his skeptical expression.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to use a can?” Stiles jumped when the sauce spit.

Chris reached around him, turning down the heat. “Probably, but then the flavors wouldn’t be as intense. Peter’s against almost everything prepackaged. Though, that’s probably because his mom’s an amazing cook and he got spoiled. He took after her in the cooking department.”

“You think my cooking’s amazing?” Peter asked playfully.

Stiles tensed, not having heard him approach. 

Chris rolled his eyes playfully. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Stiles focused on the soon to be sauce. The playful banter was so domestic, and so unlike Deuc and Kali. He’d been here almost five days and there wasn’t any form of blood shed. That was a new record.

He felt Peter’s gaze on his back but he didn’t move. 

“It smells wonderful.” Peter’s voice grew distanced as he walked off into the living room. 

“Thanks,” Stiles muttered. He wasn’t doing much to help, but it also didn’t seem like there was much for him to do. 

The sauce was finished and placed on the chicken, then everything was placed in the oven.

“We’ll add the cheese later,” Chris said, shutting the oven door.

Stiles shrugged, Chris was the cook therefore he made the decisions. 

He sat in his seat at the end of the couch, the exertion from standing at the stove left him hot and tired. He stared at the TV, watching Chris move around in the reflection, from the stove, to table, to sink. He listened as the water came on. 

They weren’t awful people. He sighed softly, if he had to be forced to stay with wolves for the rest of his life, he didn’t think he’d mind them. But his plans were still to get to New York. He ran his thumb over the back of his opposite hand, surprised at the thought that he might miss them.

“We have streaming services if you’d like to turn something on.” Peter said conversationally. 

“No, thanks.”

“There’re puzzles, and a few board games that were left over here by the other pups.”

“Why are you trying to make me do something?” Stiles asked, tearing his eyes away from the reflection to meet Peter’s gaze.

“Because even though you don’t feel well, stewing in your thoughts is never good.”

“What if they were good thoughts?”

Peter lifted a brow. “Were they?”

Stiles hesitated. “They weren’t _bad_ ”

“Do you like to read?” Peter sat back in his chair.

“No,” Stiles snapped. He knew Peter would hear the lie, and, he belatedly realized, that was probably why he was asking these questions. “Look, if you think you can bribe me to stay here, you’re wrong.” His heart thumped loudly in his chest and he fought down the urge to cough. “I won’t be bribed, or bought.” Or sold.

“Peter,” Chris cautioned, turning off the water in the kitchen. “He’s still sick, leave him be.”

“The moment he feels better he’s going to try and leave again,” Peter said to him, then twisted back to Stiles. “Chris and I have a deal for you.”

“ _Peter_ ,” Chris said, exasperated. “He’s _still_ sick.”

“And he’s going to be gone by the time we decide he’s well enough to explain this to him.” 

They locked eyes across the house, and Chris wilted. “Fine.” He threw his hands into the air. “Do what you want.”

Stiles glanced between them. This didn’t sound promising.

Chris wiped his hands on a towel and made his way over, coming to a stop next to Peter.

“You know Chris’ line of work.” Peter waited for Stiles to acknowledge before continuing, “You’re smart. You’ve survived an extraordinarily long amount of time on your own, and you deserve credit.”

They had _no_ idea. Stiles stiffened, the ‘but’ was coming.

“But,” there it was, “we would still like to try and help you.”

“Then let me go,” Stiles breathed. He shook his head, “Forget I was here.”

“Hear me out, please. If you still want to leave, you can. But we’d like you to stay with us at first, and if, for whatever reason, you want to leave afterward, we won’t stop you.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes skeptically. “How long?”

“Six months.”

“ _Six_ — NO!” He stood, hands going up to his head, fingers tangling in his hair. He turned a full circle, coming back around to face Peter, who was still sitting. “You’re in danger while I’m here.”

“I’m sure we can handle outbursts while you regain control.”

Stiles gaped. “What? _No_! From them. They want me back. They _always_ want me back.” He gripped his hair tighter. These fools were putting themselves in danger. _He_ was putting them in danger by being here. 

“While you’re with us you’ll be under Pack Protection,” Chris said quickly. “Whoever hurt you won’t get near you.”

Stiles rounded on him. “You don’t know that!” A nervous laugh bubbled up from his chest. “They will kill you,” he enunciated each word. “They’d love a reason to target the Hale pack.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but it wasn’t a lie. Deuc hated them.

Peter stiffened at the threat. “Who are they?”

Stiles shook his head. If he could get away without involving pack politics Deuc would probably focus on getting him back and leave them alone. “It’s possible they don’t know I’m here, yet. If I tell you, you’ll confront them, and they’ll come here, and kill you.” His voice broke and he coughed into his arm. And take him back.

“The offer stands whether you tell me their names or not,” Peter said firmly.

“And if I refuse?”

“We’ll bring you back to the house every time you leave without us. There are a lot of us, we could find you.”

“I’ll keep running,” Stiles ground through his teeth. He would _not_ be held captive again.

“Then take the deal and walk away when it’s done.”

“You’re putting your pack in danger!”

“By an unknown threat,” Peter almost sounded bored, but Stiles could see the tension in his jaw. 

Peter had seen how Stiles had reacted the other night at the thought of the people who had him coming back. He’d see the scars along his back, he had to know the people who had him were a danger. 

“I hear you,” Peter said calmly. “But I don’t know what the threat is, so I can’t say it’s not worth the risk. We’re a strong pack.”

Stiles bared his teeth.

Chris and Peter sat back in identical looks of surprise, and Stiles flinched. That reaction would have gotten him reprimanded before. He wrapped his arms around his middle, slowly sitting down on the edge of the couch cushion, focusing on keeping his breathing even. 

This felt like the night at the police station all over again. He was given a choice that wasn’t really a choice. He had to go with Chris in order to have a chance at escape. Now he was being told he could walk away if he stayed longer. 

They could be lying.

He placed his elbows on his knees, and rested his eyes against his palms so he was enclosed in darkness. “How do I know you’ll really let me leave?” 

Six months was a long time. They could forget, or flat out say it was never a deal at all. But, he had his own room, he had free run of the house, hell, he’d gone out of sight at the _store_. They weren’t very smart if they planned on holding him against his will. 

“We’ll mark it on the calendar,” Peter suggested. 

“That doesn’t mean you’ll let me walk out the front door.”

“You’re going to have to trust us then.”

Stiles lifted his head to glare at him. Either way he would have to stay with them for a little bit. He wasn’t well enough to run, and even if this deal didn’t give him an out in the long run, it’d give him time to build supplies. “What are the conditions?”

“No more running.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, he could have assumed that much.

“And we’re going back to the store.”

“ _Why_?” 

“Because you picked generic things off clearance racks. If you’re going to stay here for any length of time, you should pick out four things you want.” Peter held his hands out in a take-it-or-leave-it gesture. “And possibly things to keep you entertained instead of watching Chris in reflections.”

Chris looked up in surprise. “What?”

“Fine,” Stiles spat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Warning, at the beginning of the chapter Stiles has a panic attack when he believes he hears Deuc tapping on the window instead of the rain.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles finished the last of the antibiotics on Tuesday, and he’d formed two solid conclusions. The washer had it out for him. And Peter’s cooking was better than Chris’. If they killed him at least he’d die with a happy stomach.

He’d made good on his promise of not running, but the itch was still there, lying just beneath the surface, ready to spring. 

Today was the day Peter decided they were going back to the store. Gods, Stiles thought wearily, it was going to be awful. What was he _allowed_ to get? Or expected to grab? Peter said it was for things he wanted, but he certainly didn’t mean _anything_ he wanted. So what were the rules?

“You ready?” Chris asked as he waited by the laundry room door. He took in Stiles’ t-shirt and jeans, a small frown working its way across his face. 

“As I’ll ever be.” Stiles crossed the room to him, now they were just waiting on Peter. 

Chris turned toward the door next to the bathroom. A coat closet, Stiles realized. He pulled out a black and yellow zip up jacket and held it out to him. “Isaac left this behind, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you using it. It’s chilly outside.”

Stiles took it, hooking his fingers around the fabric like it might break if he gripped too hard. It was soft. It was cold outside and he didn’t particularly enjoy being sick, so he tugged it on.

Peter stepped off the stairs in dark pants and a button up shirt that looked more appropriate for an office than shopping. “Ready?”

“Just waiting on you,” Chris grinned. 

Peter rolled his eyes. This was a common interaction between them, then.

Peter drove this time. Stiles sat uncomfortably in the back seat of the fancy car, his knees felt like they were scrunched up to his chest. It was made with two people in mind, not three. He stared out the window as they pulled out in the opposite direction than they’d been before. 

“There’s a bigger store this way,” Chris explained.

Stiles met his gaze flatly in the side view mirror. “Yay.”

The ‘bigger’ store ended up being a department store Stiles had never heard of. He glanced at the garden section as they parked, and near the corner was a sign proclaiming they sold tires. 

Peter stopped the car before Stiles realized he hadn’t been made to put the bracelet on. He tugged on the sleeve of the jacket, shouldering open the door as Chris and Peter got out. 

Chris threw him a questioning glance.

Maybe this was a test. Deuc would test him sometimes. Stiles didn’t want to wear the bracelet, it made him feel _ownedpublic_ , he could slip away from them. Peter appeared next to him and he tensed. Chris might not be able to find him if he left, but Peter could. 

“The goal,” Peter said. “Is for you to pick out four things for yourself.”

“As opposed to for my best friend?” Stiles shot.

Peter grinned, showing teeth. “You never know.”

Stiles’ stomach twisted. Why did he need to pick things out? So they could be used against him? He tried to smile back but it twisted awkwardly across his face. “Right.”

Chris sighed, but Peter’s smile didn’t dim.

The doors opened automatically when they neared them, and Stiles silently said goodbye to the outside world. 

It wasn’t as busy in the store as he expected, and certainly not as crowded as the first one they’d gone to. It was also mid day on a Tuesday, so that probably helped. He wondered briefly if Peter had planned it that way on purpose but shoved the thought aside. He needed to pick four things so they could leave.

He stumbled after Chris and Peter, his heart slamming in his chest. 

“Where to first?” Peter asked, coming to a stop in the entryway, he turned to look at him.

Stiles blinked back. “Uh.” He glanced at Chris for help. The doors were opening again behind them, which meant people were coming, and he wanted to get out of the walkway. 

“How about you pick out a jacket?” Chris suggested.

Stiles seized the idea. “Yes.”

“That’s more of a need than a want,” Peter frowned. 

“You can want something you need.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Let’s look at the jackets,” Stiles said, inching farther into the store so the people coming in could pass.

Chris made a “see” motion at Peter and set off behind Stiles on the way toward the clothing. 

Stiles listened to the mild conversation of the few people around them. The general noise died away when he found himself looking at a wall of hoodies and jackets. Wolves didn’t need them, even in winter they were usually fine with a long sleeve shirt. 

He dragged his fingers across the various types of fabric, pausing on a neon purple, green, and yellow one that was sure to haunt Peter’s dreams. As tempting as that one was, it wouldn’t work. He didn’t need a literal neon sign on his back when he finally got away. 

Chris stopped to examine a different rack of clothing, holding something out to show Peter.

Stiles stepped up to the next section of jackets, stopping at a thick black one with a fuzzy lining. It looked squishy. He reached out and dug his fingers into it, relishing the soft feeling. It felt nice. 

The price tag poked his fingers and he flipped it over, eyes widening at the cost. It wasn’t _that_ nice. 

He reared back, ready to continue looking.

“Put it in the cart.” Peter said before he could step away.

Stiles looked at the jackets farther down on the shelf. Some of them had clearance stickers.

“You grabbed clearance items last time, put the hoodie in the cart.” Peter left Chris’ side so he was between Stiles and the on sale jackets.

Stiles glared at him. 

Peter’s face softened. He licked his lips, looking around the store like he was going to ask someone for assistance. “I swear, if I didn’t think you’d crawl out of your skin, I’d have invited Derek.”

“Who?” Stiles asked, shifting nervously on his feet. He’d messed up already. 

“My nephew. He enjoys picking out outfits, he’d help you pick one out.”

Stiles didn’t move and Peter sighed. “How about this, put that black one in the cart, and if you don’t find another one you like more, get that one.”

Stiles relented, grabbing the largest size on the shelf. He’d be swimming in it for sure, but the baggy sleeves would be perfect for hiding things. He dropped it in the cart, maintaining eye contact with Peter, daring him to say something.

Peter looked at the size stickers, then Stiles, and nodded. “Thank you. Was that so hard?”

“Yes.”

Chris chuckled behind them. “You’re almost as dramatic as Peter.”

Stiles ducked his head, he didn’t want to be compared to _him_. 

They wove through the rest of the clothing section and the thought of hoodies fled his mind when he saw, “Backpacks.”

He crossed the walkway toward them. 

The first time he’d ran away from Matt he used a pillowcase to hold his things. The second time, he’d used just his pockets so his hands would be free. A backpack would make things so much easier.

Just look, he told himself, reaching up to touch the fabric. The one that caught his attention was brown and rustic looking, with buckles and drawstrings. The material scratched against his fingers like the water resistant materials raincoats were made out of. He could see at least half a dozen pockets without even opening it. 

Damn, he could fit so much in there. He chewed on his bottom lip. Peter had _said_ something he wanted. He looked back at them. 

“This?” He asked when they were close enough to see what he was looking at. It was expensive, he could see the tag, and he couldn’t say he’d be heartbroken if they said no. If he went home without it, it’d be no different than what he had now. Which was nothing.

Chris nodded. “Sure.”

Stiles grinned, tugging the bag off the hook. He propped it up on the cart, unzipping it to inspect the inside. There were pockets within pockets. He pointed them out to Chris who smiled back and pointed at the tag that said there were twenty-six pockets total. 

Stiles stood there, zipping and unzipping until he found them all. Then he placed the bag in the cart. 

Chris gently steered them toward the book section. Neither he nor Peter questioned Stiles about the bag. They had to know, Stiles thought as they neared the books. They weren’t stupid, in fact, they were both pretty smart and observant from when he could tell. 

Yet, there it sat in the cart, along with the jacket. He wasn’t used to this game. At least with Deuc’s games he knew the rules. 

“What do you like to read?” Chris asked, stopping at an end cap of mysteries.

Stiles thought. It’d been a while since he’d read. Theo, of all people, had the largest book collection of the four. The last one he’d read had been part of a series that wasn’t finished, it had something to do with elves and dragons.

Peter gestured at the fantasy section as Stiles tried to describe the book to him, he was vague, but the memories were fuzzy. 

He scratched the back of his neck, trying to remember more details.

Peter stooped down, picking up a box set from the lowest shelf, he held it out to him.

The colorful spines zinged a memory, his neck tingled and he dropped his hand nodding. “That’s the book.”

The nod quickly turned into a shake of his head when Peter placed the whole set in the cart. “That’s four books, that means I’d have six items.”

“A boxset counts as one.” Peter said flatly.

Stiles gaped, that’s not how that worked. 

Chris’ lips twitched, fighting a smile.

“You want to keep looking at books?” Peter asked, 

Stiles shook his head quickly. He was supposed to get one book. Not _four_. Did that mean Peter wanted to pick out the last item too? Not that that’d be horrible, it’d take the choice away from him. And if Peter picked it out then it wouldn’t be something he’d get mad about.

He tugged anxiously on the sleeve of his jacket, waiting for Peter to decide what to do next.

“For crying out loud,” Peter breathed. “Would it make you feel better to get one book that you’ll probably finish in a couple of days?”

Stiles gripped the sleeves to hide the tremble of his hands. “You said four things.”

“ _At least_ four things.”

“That’s not what you _said_.” Stiles’ voice wobbled uncertainty. 

Peter’s expression fell. “You’re right.”

Stiles relaxed at the admission. 

“Neither Chris nor I would tell you you weren’t allowed to get something else, on top of the four things. However, if it will make you feel better, I’ll put it back and you can get whatever book you want.”

Stiles nodded jerkily and watched as Peter put the boxset back like he said he would. Stiles grabbed the first book in the series, setting it on the jacket in the cart. He ran his fingers along the spine. “May I go look on my own?”

Peter winced, then asked, “Will you pick something out?” If Stiles didn’t know better he’d say he almost sounded guilty.

Chris pulled the bracelet out of his pocket. Oh yeah. That thing.

“Yes.” Stiles took the band. He wasn’t sure what he was going to get, but he wanted a minute of space, because breathing was starting to become a chore. 

He clicked the bracelet into a wide loop, and slipped it over his wrist, not bothering to hide the fact that he kept it loose. 

“We’ll stay around the books,” Chris said, eyes lingering on the band. “Just come back this way when you’re done.”

Stiles nodded and walked away, waiting for them to say something about the bracelet, to ask him to tighten it. They didn’t, and he put distance between them, twisting through random aisles until he could take a deep breath again.

He stopped, listening for the soft sound of shoes against linoleum. He half expected one or both of them to follow him. But no such sound came, and no one appeared behind him as far as he could tell. 

He walked slower, taking more time to look at the items around him. He was in the tire section now, and on the opposite side of the store than the books. 

He side eyed a wall of air fresheners, then grabbed one decorated with brown sticks and smelled it. Cinnamon. He set it back, it was a nice smell, he thought, but would probably push his luck.

He walked by the rest of the car section, it turned into a few aisles of paint, and he briefly wondered what Chris and Peter would do if he came back with a can of spray paint. Not that he knew what he could do with that, but if it surprised them their reaction might be worth the nonsense. Maybe he’d do that another time. 

Tools was the next section. There weren’t many, mostly hand held things, and none of those high powered ones sometimes shown on TV. The motors on those probably hurt their ears. 

He stopped mid step, a small tool set flashed in the light. It was a set of picks, all various sizes and shapes, for detailing, or so the tag said. To Stiles they looked as close to a lock pick set as he’d ever come. 

He had hada lock pick set. He’d made it from wire and things he’d found around Deuc’s and Kali’s place. But the San Francisco Police Department had kept it. 

He picked up the packaging, thumbing the edge of the cardboard. It _wasn’t_ a lock pick set, but if he filed down the tips of the picks it _could_ be. 

The cardboard dug into his palm, he most certainly wouldn’t be allowed to have this. But he wanted it. He gripped it as he walked away, ignoring the rest of the tools, suddenly immensely glad he was away from Chris and Peter. If he’d been with them he probably wouldn’t have thought to come down this way. Not that he’d thought it out, but happy accidents and what not. 

He detoured into the garden area when a young couple stepped in front of him to examine storage containers. 

The garden section took him outside into a large fenced area. It was mostly empty except for a small rack of wilting flowers in the far corner. Since it was still technically winter the gardening things hadn’t been brought back out yet. 

He ventured over to the rack of flowers. He still needed to find something to bring back to them, and he wasn’t showing them the pick set. 

The flowers were in small clay pots, and the blooms were vibrant shades of yellows and blues. He leaned in to smell them and smiled. Yes. He wanted those. 

He stepped back, tilting his head to glance along the top most shelves around him. He made sure to frown, looking for something that wasn’t there. But he saw what he needed to. 

There was a camera on the ceiling to his right angled toward him. Another on his left facing the door he’d come through to get outside. 

Cardboard dug into his palm again as he gripped the set. Peter had said four things, and he could see no way of justifying the picks. He stepped back up to the flowers, lifting his right hand to inspect a pot, and blocking his left hand from view of the camera, he slid the tool set up his sleeve. Done.

He gripped the hem of the sleeve in his fist and picked up the pot he’d been touching with his other hand seamlessly. 

The pot he grabbed was a mixture of blooms and buds, he smiled at it, it’d be pretty when it perked up and was in full bloom. 

He stabilized it against his chest and went off in search of Chris and Peter.

The cart was where he’d left it by the fantasy books, though neither of them were in view.

His heart skipped a beat, had they been following him at a distance? He’d stopped paying attention after the air fresheners. 

He relaxed when Chris’ head poked out from around the corner. “What’d you find?”

Stiles held up the pot.

Chris’ brows rose and his mouth opened and shut, then he smiled. “They’re beautiful. You might have to hold onto them until we get to the register though, they might topple over in the cart.”

“That’s fine,” Stiles nodded.

Peter came around the other side of the row, glancing at him. Nosey, Stiles huffed. 

“All done?” Peter asked.

“Yes.” Stiles was ready to take his loot and get out of the store. The faster he could get home to hide it, the better. 

Chris huffed, returning to the cart. “I can take the band back if you’d like.” He held his hand out, palm up.

Stiles tensed, his left hand curling around the sleeve and tool set. The bracelet was on the same hand. Shit. “C-can I keep it for now?” 

Peter tilted his head forward, listening to something Stiles couldn’t hear.

Stiles’ heart was in his throat. He couldn’t take it off in front of them, he should have done it before he returned, but honestly, he’d forgotten he was wearing the thing. 

“That’s fine,” Chris said.

Peter’s eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch. 

Stiles held his breath, not saying a word.

Chris steered the cart toward the check out and Peter fell into step next to Stiles-- on his left. 

It could mean nothing, he told himself. None of the other wolves he’d stolen around in the past had noticed what he was doing. 

But the Hale pack was big. Which meant Peter’s senses were stronger than Kali’s and Deuc’s. 

Peter knew.

Stiles stepped in line behind Chris, Peter stopped behind him, blocking him between them, the conveyor belt, and a rack of snacks.

Chris glanced at him over his shoulder, brow pinched in confusion. Then he looked over Stiles’ shoulder at Peter before turning back to the cashier. 

Stiles stood straighter, refusing to duck his head, he wasn’t admitting _shit_. 

They’d probably be disappointed in him…. He thought sadly. Then he got angry. Why the hell did he care? They wouldn’t buy it for him, it was to help him escape _them_. They wouldn’t even know he had it.

“Stiles,” Peter said softly, his tone gentler than Stiles had heard so far. “Put it on the conveyor belt.”

“You won’t let me keepit.” He turned to look at Peter.

Peter lifted a brow in fake innocence. “The plant?”

Stiles’ stomach sank, if he wasn’t caught before he sure as shit was now. 

Chris lifted the items from the cart onto the belt, watching them and braced like he was considering intervening. 

“You weren’t talking about the plant,” Stiles grumbled. He set the pot down.

Peter nodded concedingly. “No, I wasn’t. Whatever it is, put it on the belt.”

Stiles ground his teeth together. He might as well go put it back. He turned to go back in the direction of the tool section and realized he was chest to chest with Peter, and the man didn’t move.

Peter’s blue eyes bore into his unwaveringly and Stiles realized he was pinned. 

“We’ll buy it for you,” Chris said, pushing the cart forward and out of the way. 

Stiles shook his head, curling his fingers around the packaging. “You won’t though.”

“Why not?” Peter asked flatly.

Stiles’ lip curled in frustration. They were holding up the line now and Peter was just making it worse. He needed to get past him to put the pick set back. He was caught. It was game over. 

When Peter leaned to the side to block his attempt past, Stiles snarled, “It’s for picking locks. San Francisco kept my old set, and my wallet.” The words tumbled from his mouth, he couldn’t get around either of them to put it back, or to flee.

Peter shrugged. “And the backpack is to pack your stuff in for when you leave, and the jacket is inconspicuous enough for you to fly under the radar.” 

Stiles balked, he hadn’t been that obvious, had he? He opened and closed his mouth, lost for words. Now what?

He slid the pick set from his sleeve, catching it in his fingers, and placing it on the belt. His gaze never leaving Peter, waiting for him to snatch it up and put it back. 

“They seem a bit big for locks,” Peter commented lightly.

Stiles shifted uneasily on his feet. “It’ll need to be modified.”

Peter hummed in what almost sounded like approval. “Alright. I’ll give you a set of house keys when we get home, though. I’d rather not have the integrity of the locks weakened when it’d be easier to give you your own set.”

Stiles frowned, stepping after Chris so the line could move along. That was it? No shouting? No snarls? Just _alright_?

The thoughts plagued him all the way back to the car. When he slid into the backseat, he cracked.

“I don’t understand,” he said carefully once Chris and Peter were sitting in their respective seats.

“Understand what?” Chris asked.

“You should be mad. Or disappointed.” Stiles tapped his finger against his knee. “You should have made me put it back. Or thrown a fit. Let the clerk arrest me. I don’t _know_.” 

Chris turned in the seat to face him and Peter watched him in the rearview mirror. 

“I can’t say I’m not disappointed,” Chris began.

Stiles looked at the seat back pocket, trying to focus on anything except the guilt that filled him. The guilt was new, usually he didn’t care what others thought of his actions. But Chris’ words _stung_.

“I understand you needed to steal to survive. I heard about the gas station attendant and the money, I’d venture to guess you also stole food.” 

Stiles slowly looked up until he could see Chris’ face. He didn’t look mad.

“You had reasons to do what you did. And right now you’re in a strange place with rules you’re not accustomed to, and you wanted something that made you feel safe.” 

Stiles scrapped his nails along his jeans, feeling the drag through the material and against his skin. 

“I don’t mind you having a lock pick set. Just don’t do anything with it that Peter can’t talk you out of.” He smiled like it was some kind of joke, but Stiles nodded back seriously. 

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Peter admitted. “I suspected you had something up your sleeve, literally, when you didn’t toss the bracelet back at Chris. But I was genuinely talking about the plant when I asked you to put it on the counter.”

“I thought you knew,” Stiles admitted. And maybe he felt slightly guilty in line, but he wasn’t going to admit that outloud, yet.

“I’m proud of you that you admitted it and let us buy it for you.” 

Something similar to happiness swelled in Stiles’ chest at the parise, but he couldn’t help but ask. “You’d let me walk out with it?”

“Chris didn’t notice, and neither did security. I didn’t know what you had, but whatever it was would have come to light sooner or later, and I’d have given the store money for it. But I think we’d both prefer it if you just asked for something next time.”

“Okay,” Stiles said softly, settling back against the seat. While mostly painless he was still upset. He’d gotten the item he wanted. He didn’t have to steal it. And yet he felt like he’d done something wrong. He should have just asked, but it was the type of item that would have gotten him in trouble with Deuc. 

He shuddered and rested his elbow on the side of the door beneath the window. New game, new rules, he supposed. 

They stopped at a small diner on the way home for lunch. It was a hole in the wall looking place, with white walls and tile floors, and bright red booths.

The waitress smiled at them when they came in, and told them to pick a table.

The place was empty aside from two people sitting in a corner booth, both hunched over notebooks and ignoring them.

Peter led them to a booth on the other side of the room. 

Stiles slid in first, taking the seat by the window so he could see out into the lot. 

The smell of grease filled the air, and Stiles could hear the sizzle of a grill just on the other side of the bartop counter.

“They have really good burgers,” Chris said, handing Stiles a menu. “And milkshakes.”

Stiles traced the swirling designs around the border of the menu. The back of his neck tingled and he rubbed it in irritation, wishing it would stop doing that. 

The picture of the strawberry milkshake looked so wonderful he could almost taste it.

He let his fingers come to rest against the back of his neck. 

He could feel the straw collapse as he tried to suck a strawberry through it. Could hear the clatter of dishes and loud conversation from patrons. He shook the feeling off and set the menu down.

“A milkshake sounds nice. And curly fries!” He looked down at the menu, did they have those? He hadn’t really looked at the menu closely, but the salty taste of deep fried salty potatoes lingered on his tongue.

Chris examined his own menu, “I’m thinking of getting a burger and a shake.”

They all ended up with burgers, fries, and a shake. Stiles stuffed a curly fry in his mouth and beamed. They were so good. 

“Once the weather gets warmer we usually start a garden.” Peter wiped his hands on his napkin. So proper. “Would you like to help us pick out what to grow this year?” He glanced at Stiles.

“What kind of garden? Flowers? Food?” Stiles slurped his drink, frustrated when the mixture was too thick to go up the straw.

“Fruits and vegetables,” Chris jumped in. “But if you wanted to plant some flowers we could do that too.”

“Some flowers keep pests away,” Stiles said, abandoning his shake for more fries. “Marigolds and garlic are good for that. Though garlic isn’t really a flower.” He couldn’t recall where he’d heard the information, but it spouted from his mouth and sounded like it made sense, so he must have heard it somewhere.

“I didn’t know that,” Chris admitted.

“Marigolds, is that the kind of plant you grabbed?” Peter asked.

Stiles shook his head. “No, I don’t know what that one is, but it was wilting and sad from being put outside before it was ready. It needed rescuing. And bonus, it smells nice.” He took a big bite of his burger, missing the glance Chris and Peter exchanged.

“It does smell nice,” Peter agreed. 

Chris hummed, bringing his shake up for a drink. He paused, shake halfway to his mouth, a small frown playing across his face. “Speaking of scents, does this smell off to you?” He held the shake out to Peter.

Peter frowned, he eyed the heap of whip cream piled on the top, but leaned in anyway just as Chris lifted the glass, covering Peters nose in the fluffy substance.

Stiles laughed.

It was such a childish thing to do, and Peter’s wide eyed look of disbelief at his mate’s actions was absolutely priceless. 

He ducked his head, trying to muffle the sound. Chris chuckled next to him, and any composure he might have gained was gone. He cackled. 

Peter picked up a napkin, glowering at both of them. “I’ll remember this,” he warned, wiping whip cream from his face. 

Stiles looked up and giggled, motioning to show Peter where he still had whipped cream along his cheek.

Peter dragged the napkin across the spot, smiling.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone!! Thank you for all your nice comments and kudos <3
> 
> ***Warnings at the end of the chapter***

The second week with Stiles turned into the third. He didn’t laugh again like he had at the diner, but Chris had noticed him smile a few times and he was speaking in longer sentences. It felt like leaps and bounds of progress. 

Stiles didn’t go to the store with Chris and Peter when they went for groceries a few days earlier. Instead, he’d gotten ready, and waited by the door anxiously before working up the courage to ask to stay home. It had been a weekend evening, and he quickly rushed to say it’d be crowded and he’d rather stay. 

Chris hesitantly agreed. He expected Stiles to be gone by the time they returned. He made Peter rush through the store and cursed when Peter opted for self check out, scanning each item as slowly as possible. 

Chris knew he had done it on purpose. When they carried in the groceries they saw Stiles on the couch, nose in the book he’d gotten. 

A part of Chris relaxed after that. He was still tense, waiting for Stiles to bolt out the door, but true to his word, Stiles was holding up his end of the bargain. 

It was gradual, but Stiles’ scent slowly infiltrated the rest of the house. Instead of just being confined to his room, or the one cushion on the couch, Chris caught his scent lingering in the library, and in the cabinets around the kitchen from him rooting for snacks.

Stiles had also grown more confident in getting things for himself. Chris almost laughed when he saw Stiles grab one of Peter’s biscotti, but he thought the laughter would scare Stiles away from ever grabbing another. So he stifled it and silently added another container of them to the grocery list. It seemed like Stiles _and_ Peter had a sweet tooth.

Peter was out of town for the rest of the week though, so that gave Chris plenty of time to restock the sweets. He’d taken the appeal for Isaac’s case to the Were Council and wouldn’t be back until Friday, at the earliest. 

Chris expected Stiles to be more relaxed with only one of them home, but he had only started pacing more, looping through the house at random intervals until he spotted Chris, then he returned to whatever he’d been doing before.

It was the third day after Peter left and Chris found himself in the office. He had Isaac’s case file open on the desk, staring at it until his eyes burned. 

The answers for the case had to be in it somewhere. In the reports he’d written, or Deaton’s notes. He stared into the depths of the page, hoping something would jump out at him, but nothing did.

Peter had been reading and rereading the file for months. He’d taken the official copy with him to the Were Council, leaving Chris with their version. The information burned into his mind. 

It was burned into Chris’, too. He’d written most of the notes in the file, documenting Isaac’s condition. Calvin, Talia’s mate, had offered an informal psychological perspective, then promptly went off to investigate the Blackburns. In brutal honesty he was a better Private Investigator than psychologist.

His eyes lingered on the hand written account Isaac had written about the night he escaped the freezer. Since no one knew he was there, no one knew to look for him. When asked about his escape, Isaac had told them about his friend, Mischief, who’d unlocked and opened it from the outside.

Chris flipped over a picture of the freezer in question. The lock was old and looked dysfunctional. The key hole was surrounded by rust, and it looked ready to crumble. Yet there it sat in the picture, unlocked just enough to let the door open, but sticking out far enough to question.

The door looked worn enough that if it were to be pushed from the inside it might open. Deaton had even said adrenaline was a powerful thing, and Isaac could have accomplished it himself, pushing against the door until the lock gave just enough for the door to swing free.

Isaac never wavered on what happened.

The issue was, Mischief had been missing for two years by that point and was presumed dead. 

John had been devastated at the mention of his son’s name years after he’d gone missing. The hope at him being alive roused a second search for the kid.

Chris set the picture of the freezer face down on the opposite side of the file, coming face to face with a map of the preserve. 

Red X’s and thick circled areas indicated potential places where someone might take cover, and places they needed to re-search more thoroughly. 

Despite the improbability of Isaac’s claim, everyone searched the town again. 

It was the first time Chris and Peter joined the search. 

Peter had left for law school shortly after Claudia and John moved to Beacon Hills with Mischief, who was a young child at the time. 

Four years after Peter left Beacon Hills, Chris met Peter at school. They quickly fell in love and had moved in together in a crappy apartment in San Diego when they received news of Claudia’s passing. 

And then, a few years later, they got word of Mischief going missing. Presumably wandering off into the preserve on his own, somehow evading the house of wolves. 

At the start of the first search, everyone was looking for a scared, lost child. By the end, more than a month later, they were looking for a body.

The only oddity the night he went missing was a black Subaru speeding away from town. A traffic cam caught a rear side angle of the vehicle. It was blurry, and the picture did little to identify if anyone was in the back seat, the plates and driver were not visible. Jordan kept a toy car on his desk matching the make and model. A haunting reminder of a potential murderer. 

The kid had been eleven at the time, and aside from seeing John in passing at social gatherings, Chris and Peter hadn’t really met either of them. 

Chris felt for the man, losing a child was hard, and not something that could be gotten over. To have the case reopened when Isaac was found-- to reignite the hope that Mischief just might be okay, and then have it dashed away again, was crushing. 

He and Peter returned to the pack house that night with Talia after the second search; it was well into the morning and they were soaked, muddy, and over all exhausted when they saw John’s request for transfer pinned beneath a rock on the welcome mat. 

Talia felt like she’d failed John twice.

Chris could understand why he wanted to leave. 

He thumbed the edge of the paper, debating on closing the folder. This wasn’t the direction of thought he needed to go if he was trying to help Isaac. 

“You’re thinking really hard.”

Chris looked up, he hadn’t heard Stiles’ approach.

Stiles had one hand on the door frame, leaning into the room without actually stepping inside.

“Just got lost in a memory.” Chris adjusted the map so it was straight in the file.

Stiles’ gaze tracked the movement. “What’s that?”

Chris picked it up and tilted it so he could see. There wasn’t any personal information on there so he didn’t feel guilty showing it to him. “A map of the preserve.”

“Hale land?” Stiles stepped into the room so he could get a better look.

Chris nodded.

“That’s a lot of land.” His gaze skipped from Chris and Peter’s house along the bottom that backed up to the property line, to the large pack house deeper in the woods.

“Scott and the others live here.” Chris touched the right side of the map, indicating a row of apartments. He pointed at the Pack House in the center. “Talia and the rest of the terrors,” he said jokingly. 

Stiles frowned at the map and pointed to a small house on the left. “Isaac?”

“Not anymore,” Chris said slowly. “He’s staying with Scott now.”

The house Stiles had pointed to was Isaac’s old house. An unnerved feeling entered his stomach, Stiles wouldn’t snoop into Isaacs past. Would he? Certainly he and Peter hadn’t spoken about Isaac enough for Stiles to deduce that on his own. 

He shut the folder. While the map didn’t have any personal information on it, the rest of the folder did, and it was Isaac’s story to tell. He’d come back later and see if Isaac’s old address was in the papers. Just in case he needed to talk to Stiles about not looking through files that weren’t his. 

Stiles didn’t notice him shut the folder. His gaze skimmed across the paper, taking in the tree that Peter had drawn to represent the nemeton, and the highlighter blue creek that had been exaggerated after Jordan, who was new at the time and unfamiliar with the land, fell into it. 

“Can I have a copy of the map?” Stiles looked up, meeting Chris’ gaze.

He smelled curious, not anxious, or ready to run, but Chris still paused. He could almost hear Peter telling him that he and Stiles needed to learn to trust each other, and it wasn’t all on Stiles’ end.

Chris sighed, relenting, “Yes.” He picked up the map on the desk, setting it back in the folder. “I’ll print you off a copy in a minute. That one’s drawn on and old.”

“Thank you.” Stiles’ eyes were lit up with excitement and Chris smiled down at him.

“You’re welcome.”

Stiles left the room. Chris listened to him head downstairs, returning to his spot on the couch where he’d heard him earlier in the day. 

He huffed when he heard the shuffle of book pages. Stiles had to have read that book at least three times by now, but he couldn’t gauge if Stiles would be upset or appreciative if he went out and bought him the next one. So he didn’t.

He found the map saved on Peter’s computer and printed it, outlining the perimeter like the other one. 

He paused, marker hovering just above the paper. There were several nice spots in the preserve. He traced the air in a circle over the clearing where he and Peter used to go to read. Then he trailed it through the air to the hills that had a particularly steep side that made a waterfall when it rained. 

He smiled, he hadn’t been out in the preserve in a while. He capped the pen. Stiles would find his own spots he enjoyed, and maybe he and Peter could show him a few of theirs. 

He handed Stiles the map on the way to the kitchen to start lunch, it was left over day so there wasn’t much preparation needed. 

“How’s your book?” Chris asked, getting the pulled pork from the fridge to reheat. 

Stiles looked back at him. “Good.” He didn’t turn back to the book, but he also didn’t elaborate. He twisted until he was sitting on his knees, facing Chris over the back of the couch. His heart pounded in anticipation and he chewed his bottom lip. 

Chris set the table, waiting him out.

“Do you think after lunch I can go explore the preserve?” Stiles asked in a rush.

Chris nodded, “Sure. It’d be nice to go outside.”

Stiles winced, nervously rubbing his thumb against his palm. “I meant alone.”

“You won’t get lost?”

“You gave me a map.” Stiles lifted an eyebrow, indicating the paper next to him.

Damn. He had, too. Chris put the bread in the oven to warm. “Will you wear the bracelet?”

Stiles stopped fidgeting, his eyes narrowing. “You know I can get it off.”

“Care to tell me how?” Chris asked lightly. 

“Safety release.”

Chris rolled his eyes but smiled, “No shit. How’d you press it hard enough to get it to release?”

Stiles squirmed. “Tools.”

“You got it off before you got your tool set.” Neither he nor Peter had mentioned or asked about the pick set he’d gotten from the store. They also hadn’t seen heads or tails of it since Stiles put it away.

“I’m clever.”

“Clearly.” Chris finished setting the table and pulled the bread from the oven. “You’re so clever, you probably already noticed the preserve is open territory, and borders four other packs.” Stiles glanced at the map next to him to confirm what Chris was saying. “They’ll expect you to know and respect their property lines. What happens when you stumble into their land unannounced?”

“I stumbled into Beacon Hills unannounced,” Stiles grumbled, but Chris could see him wilting.

“Being brought in by a police car is hardly _unannounced_. Besides, walking onto someone’s territory by way of a paved street versus deer trails, which is more suspicious?” 

“It’s the unsuspicious behavior you should be concerned about.” Stiles swung his legs off the couch, joining Chris at the table. “I’ll wear the bracelet.”

Stiles rubbed at the back of his neck as he sat down. 

Chris frowned. “Your neck stiff?”

“Just, old memories, I guess. I’m fine.” Stiles didn’t say anything further so Chris didn’t ask. He probably slept weird, nightmares could do that to someone. 

After the dishes were clear, Stiles ran up to his room to change into more weather appropriate clothing.

Chris caught a glimpse of red beneath his hoodie sleeve and relaxed. “How long should I wait before sending the search party?” He joked when he caught Stiles squinting at the map.

“Ha, ha,” he laughed dryly. Then his face softened as the thought of him actually getting lost sunk in. “Dark? Or just before?”

Chris nodded, that was a good amount of time for Stiles to wander. “Have fun.”

“I will.” Stiles stepped through the back door.

Chris listened to the sound of his footsteps, light and bouncy across the grass. He was happy to be outside. He’d be fine.

Chris forced himself to do things around the house to pass the time. It was oddly quiet after Stiles left, he hadn’t realized how much noise he actually made. Between tapping, fidgeting, pacing, and even the loud thump of his heart, Stiles was noisy despite his lack of words.

Chris opened a cabinet in the kitchen to put the spices he’d left on the counter last night away. 

A scent of _Stiles_ hit him and he smiled. It was good he was feeling more comfortable in the house and around them. 

Chris’ knuckles brushed against the box of dried wolfsbane, he glanced at it and his heart sank. He picked it up, bringing it to his nose. Stiles’ scent was stronger on the cardboard than it was in the cabinet. He didn’t need that though, Chris thought, he got a sugar rush off the milkshake in the diner for Pete’s sake. What did he need wolfsbane for?

He opened the container. Between him and Peter they’d used five of the twelve tea bags in the box since Stiles arrived. He dragged his finger against them as he counted. Seven were left. All twelve were accounted for. He placed the box back. Maybe Stiles had just been looking. There wasn’t anything to worry about. He was being paranoid. 

Around three in the afternoon, Chris’ phone rang, Peter’s face lit up the screen. He answered it, taking a seat in the living room. “Hello dearest, do we have a decision?”

Peter took a long breath on the other end of the line. Uh oh, that wasn’t never good. 

“Yes, but only by default.”

“Oh?”

“Raeken didn’t show up so the council voted in my favor. We’ll get an assigned court date tomorrow.”

“That’s...promising.” Chris said slowly. He frowned. “Any idea on why he wasn’t there?” With how persistent the Blackburns had been in defending their innocence, it seemed strange that they’d suddenly miss a court date. 

“None.” Peter stifled a yawn. “Kali showed up and tried to speak in his place, but Pack Alphas can’t substitute in front of the council. She tried to say that Raeken gave her the land after the conflict therefore we need to speak with her, but since we’re talking about the conflict itself and not the actions taken afterwards. We need to speak to the person who did the killing in the challenge.”

“Kali spoke for him before,” Chris said thoughtfully, recalling the last time Peter had mentioned her.

“City laws versus pack laws, we’re in front of the Were Council now, not some judge who doesn’t know the law book.”

“Did they need to speak to Isaac?”

“Yes.” Peter paused, shifting things around in the hotel room. “They asked him about his father, he handled it well. He’s actually out grabbing food right now or I’d have him tell you about it.”

“That’s good!”

“Yes. They also asked how he got out of the freezer since he said he was locked in. He told them Mischief let him out.”

“He could have also broken out, there’s no proof Mischief was there.”

“There’s also no proof he wasn’t.”

“He’d been missing for two years before this happened.” Chris stood, pacing the living room. They’d had this discussion before, several times. 

One of Deaton’s theories, in combination with adrenaline, was a visual hallucination from cold and oxygen deprivation. That seemed to most likely to Chris. 

“I know, Christopher, but you can’t lie in front of the council, they’ll call you on it in a heartbeat, and Isaac’s never bought into Deaton’s version of adrenaline.” 

They lapsed into silence. Chris pinned the phone between his ear and shoulder as he refolded the blanket on the back of the couch. “I assume you had to explain who Mischief was?”

“Not really. I started to, but after I said he was a human once under Hale protection, they all knew who I was talking about. It caused quite a scene, actually. Deucalion took it and ran, saying we were too incompetent to keep a human safe, how can we be expected to help Isaac properly. Clearly he needs more help if he’s hallucinating about dead children.”

Chris winced. “He said that in front of Isaac?”

“Yeah,” Peter said softly. “Then Deucalion tried to get Satomi taken off the council vote since she has ties to John and John was Mischief’s father.”

“John’s not tied to this case!” Chris snapped.

“That’s what I said!” Peter flipped through some papers. “Satomi knocked him down a few pegs, which was nice.”

Chris snorted. “Like we haven’t heard the rumors about Deucalion and Kali. _He_ should be taken off the vote.” 

“Just because Derek came home saying he saw them talking and going into the same house does not make them a couple in the eyes of the law.”

“Derek’s a good investigator. Did Calvin have anything to say when he looked into them? He looked into them, too.”

“Once again,” Peter said wearily, “unfortunately, their words don’t hold enough weight. If they were eyewitness to their mating ceremony, or had irrefutable proof, I could use it. Pictures would be great. But right now if I went into the council with ‘my brother-in-law saw’, Deucalion would tear me to _shreds_.”

Chris grunted in annoyance. “He’s involved somehow.”

“I agree. You know that, I know that, half the council knows that, but at the moment there’s too much doubt, and _that’s_ the angle he’s playing.”

“What are the chances of Satomi being taken off the vote?” Chris asked slowly.

“Slim. But Mischief and Scott were friends with Isaac before this all happened-”

“People who are dead don’t just pop out of the woodwork to save their friends.”

“I know.”

Chris ran a hand over his face, taking a moment to regain composure. 

“Speaking of friends, how’s our house mate doing?”

Chris latched onto the change of topic. “He’s fine, he’s out for a walk in the preserve right now.” He sat back down in the armchair, tucking his feet beneath him. 

“By himself?” Peter asked, surprised.

“He saw a map of the preserve and wanted to go explore. I printed one off your computer for him so he didn’t take the one from Isaac’s case.”

“Smart,” Peter hummed thoughtfully. “You’re sure he won’t get lost?”

“No,” Chris admitted, chuckling. “But I’m also not sure he’ll come back at all. I’m hoping he does.”

“Did he take his backpack?”

“No.”

“He’ll be back.”

“It could be a rouse.” Chris smiled, playing devil's advocate for the hell of it.

Peter made a good point, he knew Stiles had already packed the bag. If he were going to run he would have taken it.

“I’ve got a few things I need to talk to you about when you get home. It’s about Stiles and some theories, and I may need help navigating Pack laws and city laws.” 

“Sounds promising,” Peter hummed. 

“Have you figured anything out on him?” Chris hadn’t found a folder with Stiles’ name on it like Isaac had, but he knew his mate well enough to know he’d started one and had it somewhere.

“Other than kidnapping and abuse from unknown captors? No.” Peter sounded disappointed. “Calvin ran his finger prints from San Francisco but didn’t come back with any hits or ties to a pack.”

Jordan had already told Chris that same information the day he picked him up so he held his tongue and let Peter continue. 

“I’m working on getting his wallet from SFPD, if it’s cloth it should have some scents in it, those can be used to track who he was with. And hopefully an ID with a last name and birthday.”

“That’s a good idea. But if you think Stiles has a real ID and not a fake one, you’re probably going to be disappointed.”

“I thought about that too, but we’re limited right now on information so I’m grabbing at anything I can. Calvin and Derek also want to talk to Stiles, see if they can’t pick something up that we missed.”

“Do you think Stiles will talk to them?” A flash of dark clothing stepped out from between the trees and into the yard. 

Stiles was back.

“Absolutely not, but between the both of them, they’re pretty good at picking up what’s _un_ spoken.”

True. Chris had been on the receiving end of that once when he started dating Peter. It was impressive and terrifying. “Fair.”

Peter huffed. “Laura’s pushing to have a pack gathering for the full moon next week. I told her depending on how Stiles feels will depend on if he participates or not, but they’re welcome to invite him.”

“If he wants to stay home, I’ll stay home with him. You haven’t done anything with your family in a while.”

The backdoor slid open and Chris looked up, waving at Stiles as he entered. “How was your walk?”

“Amazing!” Stiles said breathlessly. His cheeks were red from the cold, and his hair was windblown, but he beamed. “There are blackberry bushes and wild carrots, and I think I saw a blueberry tree, but it didn’t have any leaves on it so I wasn’t sure. But if it is then there’ll be _blueberries_ this summer.”

“We should take him to the orchard,” Peter said in his ear, changing topics yet again when he heard Stiles’ happy tone. The door on Peter’s end opened and shut and he said, “Isaac’s back, I’ll text you. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Chris said, hanging up. He looked up, addressing Stiles, “That sounds like it was a lot of fun.”

“It was neat.” Stiles braced himself against the wall as he kicked off his shoes. “They’re a bunch of birds, and bird nests-” he pulled off his jacket - “I saw a _beaver_. At least, I think it was a beaver, I wasn’t really close enough to tell. But I think I saw a big tail on it, it was down by the creek. I’ve never seen one before in real life.”

Chris chuckled. “There are quite a bit of different animals in the preserve. They’re nice to watch.” And chase.

Stiles dropped his jacket on his shoes, collapsing on the couch. “You’re not kidding. The trails were easy enough to follow, I went down to the creek and then turned around.”

That was a bit of a hike, the creek was just over a mile from their house. “When Peter gets back maybe we can plan a trip to the orchard.”

“There’s an _orchard_?” Stiles sat up. “Where? What kind?”

“I’ll have to show you on the map. It’s mostly apple trees but there are others, and also berry bushes.” Chris smiled back. “Peter and I used to go there a lot when we were younger.”

Stiles fell back against the couch. “That’d be amazing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Warnings for mentioned (assumed) death of a child, Missing child, Isaac and his past abuse ***


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated Valentines day and Happy Galentines Day. This chapter is extra long, I'm going out of town this weekend and will hopefully type what I have written but the next update might be a bit longer then what I have been doing. I'm not sure yet. 
> 
> Thank you again for all the kudos and comments ^_^ I'm trying to scoot the plot along at a good pace to the character development, hopefully this chapter makes good progress for both!
> 
> ***Warnings at the end of chapter***
> 
> And I hope you enjoy.

Chris sat at Peter’s desk in the office, flipping through Isaac’s case file yet again. 

Stiles had indicated Isaac’s old house on the map of Beacon Hills, and Chris’ first thought was that Stiles might have been snooping into the file of his previous Omega. He doubted Stiles had malicious intent, but he wanted to make sure the information was even in the file before confronting him. 

As it turned out, the only address he or Peter had listed for Isaac, was their own. 

He ran a hand over his jaw and frowned, shutting the folder. There was no way he or Peter could have accidently shared that bit of knowledge, and it wasn’t like Stiles had been off on his own with someone else who could have told him.

Which begged the question, how did he know? 

Beacon Hills wasn’t terribly far from San Francisco where Stiles was originally picked up. It was possible he could have heard about the Lahey case. 

Or it was possible he was from Beacon Hills originally. But Chris didn’t recognize him as a local. Neither did Jordan or Peter. Which, he thought, at least one of them would, if Stiles was indeed from the area. So he pushed the idea away.

Chris sat back in the seat with a sigh, trying to think back on what exactly Stiles had told them so far. He continuously referred to his captors as ‘they’ and indicated there had been more than one person involved. And he had alluded to the fact that he’d been kidnapped. 

He pulled a map of Beacon Hills and the surrounding area up on the computer, making sure it stretched all the way to San Francisco. He printed it out. 

This type of investigation work was usually done by Derek or Calvin, but Chris wanted answers and neither of them were here at the moment to help.

The printer whirled to life, shattering the sleepy silence that had befallen the house around midnight.

Chris froze, listening carefully to make sure he hadn’t woken Stiles. He’d left the office door open so he could keep an ear on Stiles and hadn’t thought about him accidentally waking him up. 

Stiles’ heartbeat was still steady, his breathing the deep kind that came with sleep. 

Chris pulled the paper from the printer.

Stiles had been restless earlier, plagued with nightmares. He’d woken a few times and rolled over before going back to sleep. It was nice that he was resting peacefully now.

He placed the paper on the desk and grabbed a handful of colored sharpies from the drawer.

Sticking with the idea of kidnapping, he assigned each pack neighboring the Hales a color and set to work tracing their borders. While not every town’s person was part of the pack whose territory they lived on; the main pack typically knew what was going on in their town and was a good place to start. 

He grabbed an ink pen and a pad of sticky notes, writing down a note to ask Derek and Calvin to pull all kidnapping cases from the surrounding cities and talk to the Pack Alphas. 

There were three distinct types of kidnappings: family, acquaintance, and stranger. 

Family kidnappings were the most common, making up almost half of all the cases. Chris felt confident in ruling that one out. Stiles could have distanced himself mentally and emotionally enough to call family ‘they’, but it wasn’t sitting right with him and he’d learned a long time ago to trust his instinct.

That left strangers, the least likely according to statistics. And acquaintances. Both held almost the same in probability. 

Chris tapped the pen lightly against the paper, wracking his brain for any information he’d gathered over the years on the subject. 

People who fell into a routine where they were comfortable enough to tune out the world around them, were more likely to be taken. They could be easily monitored first because of the predictability, and second they were comfortable enough not to notice someone watching them.

But Chris didn’t know how Stiles was before this happened, or how long ago he was taken. He’d only witnessed the tense version of Stiles who was now asleep in the bedroom two doors down. Had he someone to fall into a routine like that? Or striked up a conversation with a stranger that he shouldn't have? Or was it random? The random ones were the hardest to solve. 

A quick google search didn’t reveal the average distance kidnappings occured from home, but it did tell him car crashes were most common within ten miles. So he started there, making a mental note for a margin of error. 

He put a dot on San Francisco as the center, since that was the closest starting point he had, and carefully mapped out a ten mile radius. Most of the circle was in the ocean, and thanks to the size of the state, the ten miles barely stretched across the Bay. 

But once it crossed the water, the edge of the circle did touch a few other territories and came close to a few more. He added those to the list just in case. 

The Lahey’s land, the Martells’, the Moishures’, the Blackburns’, Chris’s eyes narrowed, and the Santos’. So, in this theory, Stiles could be from any of their packs, or the cities within those boundaries.

He placed his head in his hands. He’d need to talk to Peter about this before he ended up in jail again. Gathering information on packs was a touchy subject. It was easier to explain to a court why you needed information on one person then to explain why you were investigating several- potentially dozens from a pack. But he needed to start in a broad search before he’d be able to narrow it down and this was the easiest way. 

In the bedroom, Stiles’ heart skipped a beat, rapidly increasing to a pounding race. His breathing hitched, and he gave a low whine.

Chris turned toward the office door, watching and listening to see if Stiles was going to get up or go back to sleep. 

Stiles gasped, the bed creaked as he sat bolt upright. The room went quiet, and Chris looked down at the map. Still waiting to see what he did. 

The Martells and Moishures were now part of the Blackburns and Lahey was dead, aside from Isaac, who was now part of the Hales. So he didn’t count. 

Really, the Blackburns and Santos were the only two Chris could look into from his botched list. If any of them were missing a pup, they’d be quick to answer his questions so they could get Stiles back. If they were the ones who’d taken Stiles, Chris knew where all of them lived. 

He scrawled both pack names on a sticky note next to his note about missing people, and flipped it over so Stiles wouldn’t accidently see. Chris doubted he would appreciate them looking into his past after he refused to tell them anything. 

Stiles’ bed creaked, followed by the soft shuffle of socks on carpet.

He looked out across the living room just as Stiles opened his bedroom door, squinting against the light.

Chris turned off the light, he didn’t need it to see anyway, and Stiles’ eyes were already adjusted for the dark.

He stood, stepping around the desk as Stiles came closer, rubbing his face with his hands. 

“Bad dream?” Chris asked gently. He knew the answer already but it would prompt Stiles into a conversation. 

Stiles’ heart was still pounding, and a sticky fear sweat clung to his clothes. He nodded, stopping just in front of Chris, hands held up and out, but not touching. Never touching. 

“Why are you still up?” he asked sleepily.

“Working.” Chris glanced behind him at the desk, making sure everything with personal information was put away or out of direct line of sight. 

“Isaac?”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t a complete lie, part of it involved Isaac. 

Stiles bobbed his head, accepting that answer. 

“Do you want a drink?” Chris asked. “Isaac used to like hot chocolate after a bad dream.”

Stiles shook his head, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he yawned. “Are you going to bed?”

Chris paused, that was an odd question. “I should be. I won’t be able to sleep right away though, so I’ll probably stay up and read in bed.”

“Can I stay up with you while you read?” Stiles looked up hopefully, his scent returning to its familiar fiery essence. 

“Of course.” The bed was plenty big enough for both of them to have space, and the light on Chris’ night stand should be dim enough to not bother Stiles. 

Stiles followed him as he led him to the bedroom. Stiles stopped in the doorway, waiting as Chris crossed the room to turn on the lap so he could see better. 

Stiles hadn’t been in his and Peter’s room before, it would have been cruel to ask him to dodge unknown furniture in the dark.

Stiles winced at the light and took in the sight of the California king sized bed and the two dressers, and two closets. His brow slowly rose.

“Peter has a lot of clothes.” Chris smiled.

“That can’t be all his.” Stiles walked around the bed to the side by the window. Peter’s side. 

“No,” Chris admitted. “One of the dressers and half a closet is mine.”

Stiles shook his head in disbelief, sitting on the bed. He leaned back so his back was against the headboard and folded his hands in his lap, gazing distantly out the window into the darkness.

From Chris’ point on the bed, all he could make out through the window were the dark shapeless blobs of tree tops. He’d never put much thought into what Peter could see from his side, but now he caught himself wondering what Stiles was looking at. 

Chris picked a book up off the nightstand, placing it on the bed so he could get under the sheet. 

Would Stiles need a thicker blanket? He looked over at his companion. His sweat pants were fairly thick, but he only had on a t-shirt and he hadn’t bothered to get under the blanket at all. Maybe he wasn’t cold. If he got cold later, Chris would get up and get him a heavier one.

“Do you want to talk about your dream?” Chris asked, once they were both settled. Isaac had never liked to talk about his, but Erica had. She would growl and snarl for hours until all the rage she could exert was gone, then she’d curl up with a blanket until she had the energy to move again. 

“Not really,” Stiles said, not looking away from the backyard. He shifted against the bed nervously. 

Chris waited, and finally Stiles asked, “Can we open the window?”

“Sure.” Chris frowned. It was winter, and although the temperature outside was above freezing, it had to feel cold to him.

Stiles got up, long fingers deftly working the latches until the window groaned, and opened a crack. Just enough to let a cool breeze of air rush through the room.

He settled back on the bed, this time farther down on the mattress, so just his head and shoulders were supported by the headboard. 

The frown on Chris’ face deepened when he picked up his book. He flipped it open to a random page to make it seem like he was frowning at the plot instead of what he’d just witnessed. Thoughts from earlier in the day flickered through his mind.

Stiles had been happy when he’d returned from his hike outside, but yet he hated going out in public, especially when there were people. The difference in reactions for the two were drastic. He didn’t trust anyone not to hurt him, but Chris would have thought that would apply to being alone in the woods as well. With his lowered senses, he wouldn’t know if he was being followed. So one would think he wouldn’t like that either. 

But cracking the window just now had made him relax. And if Chris recalled correctly, Stiles had cracked the bedroom window on his first night at the house, too.

Fresh air, he realized, made Stiles relax. He was more tense when he was inside, like in the interrogation room, or in the center of a store. 

Chris couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been locked away in a room given how strong his desire to even _see_ outside was. He pushed images of an empty room with boarded up windows from his mind. He’d kill whoever hurt him.

“You’re not reading.” Stiles had slid completely down to the mattress now, his head turned against Peter’s pillow to watch Chris. 

“Yes, I am.” Chris focused his gaze on a sentence on the page.

“You haven’t turned the page.”

“I’m a slow reader,” Chris shrugged. 

“Your eyes weren’t moving and you keep tensing. You’re thinking about something you don’t like.”

Chris looked down at him. Observant little shit. “Would it make you feel more or less comfortable to know I was thinking about the conditions you came from, and am trying to figure out why you always seem to feel you need to have access to the outside world.”

Stiles tensed and pulled the sheet over himself. Worse then, Chris sighed.

“What have you figured out?” Stiles asked, worrying the sheet between his fingers.

“Nothing,” Chris said quickly, “just theories.”

Stiles stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Will you tell me if I’m right?” Chris asked, hiding the hope that they could be making progress.

“Maybe.”

Close enough, Chris would take it. “You enjoy being outside, but not in public. Part of that I believe is because of the people who hurt you, but I’m also considering the idea that you were taken in a public place.” Stiles didn’t react, so Chris kept going, “You’re always looking out windows and are more relaxed after you’ve been outside or cracked a window.” 

Stiles glanced at the window he’d just opened, then back to Chris.

“My second theory is that you were kept someplace with no windows. Where you couldn’t go or see outside, so not only is it exciting and new now that you can, it makes you feel like you have freedom and space to run.”

Stiles focused his gaze on the wall behind Chris, and at first, Chris didn’t think Stiles was going to answer. Then he took a breath.

“It was a closet. In a master bedroom, one of the big ones.” The words were soft, and Chris could barely hear them. “The door opened inward so it was easier to bust down to get in, than it was to get out. The handle was replaced by a lock that locked from the outside.” Stiles shifted his gaze to Chris’. “I picked it to get out.” His hands flexed, tracing a memory that Chris couldn’t see, then he rolled over, tugging the blanket tighter around him. 

The message was loud and clear. Conversation over.

That was more information then Chris expected to get. Not that it told him who had been holding Stiles hostage, but Stiles had trusted him enough to open up to him about a part of what happened. And that spoke volumes.

He listened to Stiles’ breathing even out into sleep. 

Chris hardly slept.

Friday rolled around quickly. Peter’s car bumped into the driveway and the garage door rose.

Stiles looked over from where he stood in the kitchen. He’d found a four ingredient cookie recipe in a drawer and dug out the ingredients, all but begging Chris to let him use the kitchen.

Of course Chris said yes.

The directions were simple, and soon the scent of baking cookies filled the house. It smelled wonderful.

The car had just pulled into the garage when Chris heard it, the pounding of a second heartbeat next to Peter’s. A familiar voice spoke excitedly to him, muffled by the engine and walls between them.

Isaac. Chris recognized the pitch of his tone. 

He stepped toward the kitchen, Stiles would probably appreciate a warning, despite Peter’s lack of thinking a head’s up would be nice.

“Peter home?” Stiles asked, watching Chris approach. His eyes sparkled, the wrinkles around his eyes softening. 

Chris hadn’t realized how worried he’d been with Peter gone. He smiled when he noticed a streak of flower across Stiles’ cheek. “And Isaac.”

Stiles’ expression faltered, rapidly falling as he glanced nervously toward the laundry room door. 

“He’s been in your shoes. He won’t rush toward you, or go in for a hug,” Chris explained. “I’ll be right here, but if you want to go upstairs and meet him another time, he’ll understand.”

The car engine stopped and the conversation died. Peter must be listening to him talk to Stiles.

“I’ll meet him,” Stiles said softly. He forced a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

The car doors opened and the sound of two sets of footsteps walked toward the laundry room. 

Chris tried not to scowl. Peter _knew_ Stiles didn’t like being around people, yet he brought Isaac over unannounced anyway. He walked back to the living room, placing himself between Stiles and the laundry room door. 

Isaac burst into the house, tripping over himself as he tried to take his shoes off and keep walking at the same time. “Chris!” He threw his arms around Chris’ neck in a flurry of curls and a scarf.

Chris caught him, his frustration at Peter dissolving into laughter. “Isaac.” He ran a hand over Isaac’s head, scenting him and pushing hair from his face at the same time.

“You won’t believe this,” Isaac said, eyes glinting mischievously. 

Peter entered the house behind him smiling. Chris threw his mate an angry glance over Isaac’s shoulder.

Peter’s smile twisted apologetically and he ducked his head briefly in acknowledgement. 

“Erica and Boyd are officially dating,” Isaac said in a rush. “Scott said they went to the movies last week, and they’ve been doing the whole, does the other really like me dance for _months_.” He chuckled.

“Who finally asked the other out?” Chris asked, releasing him to hug Peter. 

Peter kissed his cheek, stepping around him to carry his suitcase upstairs. 

“Erica,” Isaac stated. “I mean, we all knew she would be the first to break the ice, but it finally happened. I’m excited for them.” He opened his mouth to keep talking, then he faltered, his gaze landing on Stiles in the kitchen. “Hi,” he said, toning down his excitement and volume but keeping the enthusiasm. “I’m Isaac.”

Stiles looked at Chris. He hadn’t moved from his spot in the kitchen by the counter. 

Chris looked at the stairs, he and Isaac were far enough away to give him a clear path if he wanted to go upstairs. 

Stiles glanced at the timer on the stove, his shoulders hunching forward. “I’m Stiles.”

“What’re you making?” Isaac asked, taking a seat on the couch and trying to appear non threatening.

Chris knew Isaac could smell the cookies and tell exactly what kind Stiles was making. His heart went out to him as Isaac tried to engage Stiles in something he found fun.

“Lemon cookies.” The reply was soft, Isaac had to concentrate to make out what Stiles had said.

Back to two word responses, Chris realized sadly. At least Stiles was talking. 

“They smell _amazing_.” Isaac kicked his feet up on the couch, sprawling out just like he used to when he lived here.

“Thanks.” Stiles adjusted the hand towel on the oven door handle, not looking at either of them.

Isaac tilted his head, his scent shifting between curiosity and concern. He stared at what he could see of Stiles’ face from the weird angle. A frown replacing the smile he’d worn when he came inside.

“What’s wrong?” Chris asked, too low for Stiles to hear.

Isaac gave a minute shake of his head, looking between them. “Nothing… probably.” He stretched, resting an arm along the back of the couch and raised his voice back to a normal volume. “Do you have plans for the full moon?”

Stiels froze, still turned away from them, his heart skipped a beat and he held his breath.

“I was thinking of a quiet night in,” Chris said. It was a lie, and the way Isaac sat up straighter told him he picked up on it, but Stiles’s reaction confirmed what he suspected, he wasn’t ready to spend a full moon with the pack yet.

Isaac nodded, not calling Chris out on it. “That’s always nice.” He looked back at Stiles and Chris knew he understood. 

Stiles took a shallow breath and sat at the table, eyes locked on the timer on the stove. 

“What about you?” Chris asked.

“Pizza at Scott’s.” Isaac shrugged. “Maybe a run through the preserve. The usual, I suppose.” He sighed, “Laura mentioned getting the whole pack together at the main house, but that sounds exhausting. Some of us have to work the next day.”

Chris smiled, full moons with the entire pack could get slightly out of hand and last well into the following day. With everyone in one spot, feeding off the close proximity of the bonds and energy from the moon, there were usually good stories to tell the next day. And new pieces of blackmail.

“Did Scott ever find his shoe from the last pack gathering?” Chris sat in the armchair.

Isaac burst into laughter. “Nope.”

“Is he sure he didn’t leave it at home?” Stiles asked quietly.

“That’s what I asked!” Isaac exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “He’s constantly leaving things at home and claiming them to be lost. They’re lost alright, in the bottom of his closet, or under his bed.”

A hint of a smile flickered across Stiles’ face, and the oven beeped. He got up, grabbing an oven mitt to take the tray out. He set them on the stove top to cool, just as Peter came back down stairs. 

Peter glanced at the cookies and Stiles, smiling. “Those smell good.”

Isaac stayed long enough to try one of the cookies when Stiles offered them to everybody. He put them on a plate, holding it out to Peter first, who took two. Then he walked up to Chris and Isaac. He stiffened when Isaac reached for the plate, but he didn’t pull back.

Isaac smiled sadly at Chris when Stiles returned to the kitchen. He thanked Stiles for the cookie and made up a story about a days worth of laundry and needing to fight the rest of the pack for the washer. 

Stiles hadn’t smiled, and Chris wasn’t sure if he knew it was a joke. 

Isaac shook his head when Peter offered him a ride, saying he’d already messaged Scott and would meet him outside, but thanks for the offer.

“I’ll walk you out.” Chris said when the faint rumble of a car approached the house.

Isaac threw an arm around Peter in a goodbye hug, and waved at Stiles. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Stiles barely looked up from where he was saran wrapping the cookies. He stilled, slowly lifting his head all the way, eyes locked on Isaac’s wrist. 

Chris followed his gaze. Isaac had on a neon yellow band, not too different from the red one he had for Stiles, except Isaac’s was more like a child’s snap bracelet.

Isaac waited in case Stiles said anything, but he only turned back to the cookies. Chris could see the thoughts running across his face. There’d probably be questions later, and that was fine.

Isaac opened the front door, letting Chris and himself out onto the porch. He stopped by the porch swing and pushed it with a finger, watching it as it wobbled crookedly. “I’ll make sure Laura doesn’t keep pushing for pack gatherings.” 

“That’s not your job,” Chris said. “Peter and I are well equipped to handle her and her social gatherings.”

“She won’t stop at the full moon.” Isaac looked over at him. “She’s planning for holidays coming up, too.”

“She has good intentions.” At least, that’s what Chris was telling himself.

“Stiles would be terrified with all of us there, loud and shifting.” He shook his head. “I’ll talk to Cora about it.” Isaac had lived with him and Peter for months before his first pack gathering, Chris had almost forgotten how intimidated and nervous he’d been at the event. But the way Isaac was shifting uneasily now, Chris had no doubt he knew just how anxious Stiles would be at an event like that. 

“Peter and I aren’t pushovers.”

“I know,” Isaac nodded. “But Cora lives with her and will happily remind her every time she brings a function up that she needs to be cautious when inviting Stiles.”

Chris smiled. Isaac and Cora had formed a close friendship over the years and he could easily imagine Cora going toe to toe with her sister over whatever Isaac asked.

Scott pulled into the driveway, waving at Chris.

“It was nice seeing you.” Isaac hugged him again before darting off the steps.

“Call if you need anything.” 

Isaac closed the distance between the porch and car, pulling open the passenger side door and sliding in. They both waved as Scott backed out of the drive. 

Chris turned, going back inside.

Stiles had put everything away in the kitchen and was standing next to the counter biting his thumb nail, reeking of anxiety.

Peter looked up at Chris guiltily. He’d moved from the kitchen to next to the back door, most likely trying to give Stiles space.

Chris turned to Stiles, an idea springing to mind. “You want to go on a hike?”

Peter took a step back in surprise, but Chris ignored him, focusing on Stiles.

His hand fell away from his mouth and he looked at him, then the back door, and gave a small nodd. “Where?”

“We could probably make it to the orchard and back before dark. Or maybe the clearing. It’s up to you.” Chris walked to the laundry room, picking up his and Peter’s shoes before returning to the back door.

Stiles ran upstairs without an answer to grab his jacket and Chris pushed Peter’s shoes pointedly into his chest.

“Why?” Peter asked, taking them from him and putting them on.

Stiles’ footsteps quickly returned and Chris didn’t answer, instead he put on his own shoes. He needed to talk to Peter later about what he’d figured out anyway, and going outside would, hopefully, make Stiles relax.

“If I stay with you, can I skip the bracelet?” Stiles asked, hovering on the bottom step, jacket draped over his arm.

“Of course.”

He pulled the jacket on. Chris could see the tension leave his shoulders the minute they stepped outside. His shoulders relaxed, his head tipped back just slightly as he breathed in the fresh air, and like Chris noticed before, his steps became lighter. Happier.

Peter looked at Chris, demanding an explanation. 

Chris smiled at him, “Stiles said he saw a beaver the last time he came out.”

Stiles walked in front of them, ignoring their conversation. He looked up at the branches of the trees as they approached.

“There’s a lot of wildlife out here.” Peter said, continuing to give Chris a confused stare.

Chris chuckled, taking his hand and looping his fingers through his.

Hearing Stiles’ excited babble about plants over the phone did nothing to show how at home he felt in the woods. Not that Chris had seen it first hand either, he’d only see the after effects, but he had assumed. And he was more than pleased to have his assumptions confirmed. 

Peter squeezed Chris’ hand gently and he leaned into the touch.

They stepped onto the well worn deer trail and Stiles spun to face them, walking backwards. “Where’s the orchard?”

“The trail’s going to split up here, we’re going to keep left.”

Thanks to winter, the foliage was low, making the path easier to see.

“That’s the way I went to the creek,” Stiles said, pausing to examine a vine of ivy crawling into the trail.

“The creek runs through the whole preserve, at one spot it makes a pond when it rains, and a waterfall.”

Stiles looked back at Chris in excitement. “That sounds pretty.”

“It is.”

The dry earth crunched beneath their feet as they walked. The deep scent of trees and animals that Chris associated with the preserve filled the air. He listened to the rustle of birds in the distance and the larger crunch of a bush from a deer. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out in it like this.

The trail split, and Stiles veered left, content to walk in silence now.

It wasn’t particularly nice outside. The sky was overcast, and the wind had a bite to it. As they walked along the creek Chris noticed it looked grey. He’d seen the same spot a vibrant shade of blue on sunny days, and wished it was sunny now so he could show Stiles.

“Are there fish in there?” Stiles stood on his toes to look into the water from a different angle.

“Not big ones,” Peter chimed in. “Mostly minnows. It doesn’t get very deep.”

Stiles nodded, tossing a twig into the water, breaking the calm surface in a spasm of ripples. 

They passed a blackberry bush and Stiles pointed out the wild carrots he’d mentioned the other day.

Peter smiled. “You know a lot about plants.”

“Not really.” Stiles shrugged. “I used to have a garden.” He frowned, staring at the path as they walked.

“What’d you grow?” Peter asked, not missing a beat.

Depending on the types of food or flowers he grew they could narrow down the area he lived in. California has spots of diversity in climate, and pack lands were large.

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted.

Peter tilted his head, listening.

Chris didn’t hear a blip in his heartbeat or scent a change indicating deception. 

“You don’t remember?” Peter asked gently. “I’m surprised, you knew Marigolds kept pests away, I would think you’d remember all sorts of things you grew.”

Stiles hesitated, his stride faltering, he didn’t look up. His fingers worried the extra long sleeves of his jacket, and Chris could smell pain from where he was biting his lip. 

“You don’t have to tell us,” Chris interjected, throwing a pointed look at Peter. This was supposed to be a _calm_ outing.

Stiles looked up at the tree canopy above them. His throat worked like he wanted to tell them, but he kept stopping himself. He dropped his head forward again, staring into the distance.

Peter let the topic drop. They walked farther along the path as it wound along next to the water.

It was hard to get a clear scent on Stiles’ emotions with all the other scents around them and Chris quickly gave up trying to pinpoint his emotions. 

They were passing the widest part of the creek when Stiles spoke. “If an Alpha takes memories, do they come back?” He looked over his shoulder at them, expression torn between fear and hopefulness. 

Chris’ chest seized. Memory alteration was a major crime and typically had long lasting effects. He felt his claws fighting to extend, and clamped his hands to his sides. 

“They can,” Peter said, carefully. “Only Pack Alpha’s can do it, and it’s against the law.” He had to have tacked on that last part to see if Stiles would elaborate.

“Only Pack Alphas?” Stiles frowned. 

Please let him have just heard of it somewhere and be curious, Chris thought. 

“Yes.” Peter gripped Chris’ hand tightly. “It’s a huge breach of trust. A pack has to trust their Alpha, to alter someone’s memories is deplorable.”

Stiles nodded solemnly. “That makes sense.”

Chris swallowed, recalling every time Stiles touched the back of his neck. He hadn’t outright said someone had altered his memories. He knew he was clutching at straws when he hoped Stiles would say he’d heard it somewhere but asked anyway, “Is that why you can’t remember what was in your garden?”

Stiles grimaced. “I heard one of them say they did, but I don’t remember them actually doing it.”

Chris cringed. It was probably a good thing Stiles couldn’t remember, the act of someone digging their claws into another’s neck was excruciating.

“Will you tell me their names?” Peter asked.

“They’ll kill you.” 

As much as Chris wanted their names, too, he knew it wouldn’t be that simple with Stiles. He thought he was protecting them by refusing to give up the information, and he was stubborn enough to put up a good fight.

“What have you remembered?” Chris asked. 

Just because someone _said_ they altered memories, didn’t mean they did. Stockholm syndrome was also a possibility, and with that, memory manipulation wasn’t needed.

Stiles shrugged again. “Not much. Feelings, I guess. The flowers at the store made me happy, but it was a deep happy, if that makes any sense.” He paused, hand going up to the back of his neck.

Chris cursed under his breath for not considering the motion earlier. In his defense, it hardly ever happened now. If a Pack Alpha was accused and found guilty to have altered memories against the will of a pack member, the pack was disband and the Pack Alpha stripped of their title. 

To prove the memories had been changed or blocked was the hard part. And if Stiles refused to give up their name, it’d be nearly impossible.

Chris bit back a growl.

“My brain feels fuzzy and my neck tingles sometimes, too. It’s more annoying than anything.”

It sounded a hundred percent like memory alteration. Chris looked at Peter, they needed to find out who the pack was. If they were willing to do that to one person, they would do it to another, and there were reasons memory alteration had such major consequences.

“It makes sense,” Peter assured. It was textbook. “In most cases I’ve heard. When an action or event occurs that’s similar to the event or action blocked in your memory, the memory can resurface.”

“No quick fix?” Stiles asked weakly.

“Unfortunately not.” 

“That’s okay.” 

Chris bit his tongue. It was _not_ okay.

Stiles fell quiet until they reached the orchard. The path they were on practically dumped them into it. His head rose, eyes growing wide, as rows upon rows of barren trees filled the area.

“It’s prettier when they’re in bloom.” Peter said, but he was also looking happily at the trees.

“This is so cool.” Stiles lifted a hand, touching the lowest branch of an apple tree. 

Chris smiled, he was able to identify every tree Stiles touched. Pear, lemon, cherry, but mostly apple. “Peter and I used to collect apples from here and make all sorts of things.”

“Like what?” Stiles weaved between two tree trunks, popping around on the other side, facing Peter.

“Cinnamon apple bread.”

“Apple juice.”

“Really, Christopher? That’s so _plain_ ,” Peter compalined playfully, trying to keep the mood light. “You have to talk our recepies up, tell him the good ones.”

“Apple juice is good,” Stiles argued, swinging around another tree to head toward a picnic table.

“See?” Chris asked.

Peter huffed in mock annoyance, watching Chris wind his way towards Stiles.

“Does the rest of the pack come out here?” Stiles asked, walking in a circle around the bench and table. They were old, and in need of minor repair. 

“They younger ones do,” Peter mused. “The older generations don’t give it much attention. They’ve been to all the fun spots so often they don’t find them fun anymore.”

“That’s disappointing,” Stiles said, expression falling. “I bet there’s all sorts of cool things to see out here.” He touched the tip of a branch that was starting to turn green with new growth.

“There’s random benches, tree swings, a couple of cabins,” Peter ticked things off on his fingers as he went. “Cora’s deer blind-”

“Cora’s _what_?” Stiles gasped, twisting to face him.

Chris chuckled.

“Deer blind. She begged for it for _years_ , got it on her birthday, set it up and decided it was more fun to chase the deer then watch them.”

Stiles laughed softly. “Lots to discover then.” He looked around as they walked, squinting into random directions, like he might spot one of the things Peter had indicated were in the woods.

It was almost dark when they got back to the house. Stiles excused himself to shower and change, darting upstairs.

Peter kicked his shoes off, watching Chris. His expression had shifted from relaxed to calculating as Stiles exited earshot. “You knew that going outside would make him relax.”

“It was part of what I wanted to talk to you about, yes.” Chris climbed the steps, heading to his own room to change. “But let’s talk about you bringing Isaac over unannounced.”

“He wanted to see you, I didn’t think one person would scare Stiles. Especially one who we’ve both spoken about, often, I might add.” Peter followed one step behind him. 

Chris shot him a glare and he bared his neck. 

“Care to inform me on anything else you’ve realized about Stiles?” Peter asked under his breath, trying to get the topic off of him. 

They stepped into the room, closing the door so Stiles couldn’t accidently over hear. 

Chris briefed him on what Stiles told him the night before. 

Peter’s eyes flared a solid red as he listened. He nodded when Chris brought up kidnapping and missing person’s reports. “I’ll text Calvin and Derek to run the reports before dinner, if you haven't already.”

What made Peter frown was Chris’ guess at a radius from San Francisco.

“Based off car accidents, though?” He ran a hand over his face. “Those aren’t even close to kidnappings.”

“If you have a better starting point, I’m all ears.” Chris tugged his shirt off, tossing it in the hamper.

Peter’s eyes tracked the movement, lingering across Chris’ chest as he met his gaze. ‘It’s a good place as any, I guess. How far back are you going with the reports?”

Chris hesitated. They didn’t know how old Stiles was, and while his guess at the station wasn’t proven, he opted to go with it. “If he’s seventeen... four years, since teenagers have a higher probability of being kidnapped.”

“He could be older.” Peter pressed his lips together. “If we assume he’s _eighteen_ , and meet in the middle of our guesses on age, then you’d need to go back five years. If we don’t find him in those reports, we can go back a couple more years, or spread our search out into other areas.” He stepped up to Chris, his hands trailing lightly up his sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “We’re including Beacon Hills in that list.”

“He wasn’t being held captive _here_.” Chris scowled. He slid his hands under Peter’s shirt, it still had debris on it from outside. He bunched it up, pulling the material over Peter’s head. 

Peter leaned forward, his lips brushing Chris’, he pressed his nose against his. “You’ve gotten too comfortable in your job if you’re making assumptions.”

Chris nipped his bottom lip and placed his hands flat on Peter’s chest, shoving him back.

Peter stumbled, the back of his knees caught on the edge of the bed, sending him backwards. 

Chris jumped on top of him, knocking him flat onto his back.

Peter ducked under his arm. Chris hooked his legs around Peter’s, grabbing his wrists he pulled them up, pinning them by his head.

“If you know something, say it,” Chris said, leaning forward so their faces were almost touching. 

Peter stared back, unimpressed. “I know the same as you, but something’s different about Stiles, and it’s frustrating me that I can’t figure out what. Until we know, we have to look in every possible direction.”

Chris sat back, releasing Peter’s hands but still straddling him.

Peter rested his hands on Chris’ thighs and rubbed his thumbs into the muscles as Chris thought.

“A Pack Alpha had to alter his memories, and Talia would never do that to anyone, so why include her in this search?” Chris asked.

Peter gazed up at him. “I never said she would do such a thing. I also doubt Alpha Santos would even consider the thought. But we aren’t just looking for his kidnappers, we are also looking for where he’s from.”

“Do you think Kali did it?” Chris asked. The Blackburns were already sketchy, he wouldn’t put it past her to alter memories. 

“Possible,” Peter agreed, “but that’s a big accusation. Why would she do it? She has Alpha’s and Beta’s of her own, she doesn’t _need_ to steal a pup.”

“Power trip?”

Peter’s hands worked up his legs, kneading gentle massages into his hips. “If no one is speaking against her in Isaac’s case, who would speak against her now?”

“Stiles?” Chris felt like he was losing the argument here but Kali was a fantastic place to start.

“He hasn’t told us shit about his captors. He’s terrified of them. His testimony would be needed along with other evidence. Word against word won’t go very far.”

Chris growled.

Peter hooked his fingers into his waistband, flipping them over until Chris was beneath him, staring up at him in confusion at the sudden movement. Peter brought his hand up to Chris’ face, gently running his fingers along his jaw, down to his chin, and across his lips. “We need evidence before we can prosecute her, or she will walk free.”

Chris bared his fangs. Peter kissed him, slowly dragging their lips together until Chris’ teeth returned to their dull human shape. 

Peter pulled away, staring into Chris’ eyes. “Give me until the end of Stiles’ trial period with us to get the evidence I need to prove if it was, or wasn’t her.”

“And if you can't?” Chris asked.

“If I can’t prove it to the court or council, and if we _know_ who it was. I’ll be your alibi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Warnings for Stiles describing the living conditions he was kept in before escaping, it doesn't describe a lot, Chris takes a guess that Stiles was kept in a room with out windows and Stiles admits and describes a closet.***


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! I was able to get what I had typed so here's an update :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. <3
> 
> ***Warnings at the end of the chapter***

One day turned into three, which blurred into seven, and Stiles looked up one morning surprised to find a whole month had passed since the orchard.

He spent the majority of days out in the preserve. Sometimes Chris or Peter would walk with him, other times he grabbed the red bracelet and went alone. They never asked to tag along when they saw it. 

Stiles stepped lightly along the creek, wobbling when the soft dirt threatened to dump him into the water. Being around the creek made his neck tingle, so he kept going back. It seemed familiar, in an unfamiliar way. 

He followed the creek up, back to the orchard the three of them had gone to, and down the opposite way until he felt like he’d wandered too far, then turned around. No memories came back as to why the creek was familiar, but he was bound and determined to figure out what about it made him itch. 

He jumped to a rock that was jutting up and out into the water, arms out to keep his balance. 

A few days after the orchard he’d been coming out of his room and heard Peter talking on the phone with Derek or Calvin. His voice was raised, but he’d been trying to keep quiet, demanding to know why no pack in the surrounding area would report a pup missing. He could only assume he was the pup in question.

They wouldn’t find him in any missing pack report. And that’d be for the better. 

He looked at the next shelf of rock, it was far enough away he’d need to take a large step to get to it. So he did, landing on the ball of his foot, he used the momentum to propel himself to safety. 

The bracelet on his wrist jostled with the movement, he had to spread his fingers to keep it from falling off into the water. He’d noticed the yellow one around Isaac’s wrist, it was strange he felt compelled to wear it. No one was _making_ him put it on when he went outside. It was by choice. He frowned. Maybe it made him feel comfortable, he guessed.

Thunder rumbled across the dark clouds above him and he looked up, a large drop of water landed on his cheek. He sighed, that was his cue to go home. No, he corrected, to Chris and Peter’s house. He jumped back across the rocks, commiting the spot to memory so he could cross it to the trail another time.

He found his way back easily, with as much as exploring as he’d been doing recently, he was able to remember most of the paths and had even found a couple smaller trails that were short cuts.

The clouds opened as he hurried across the yard, dumping rain on his head, as lightning flashed.

Chris opened the back door when he saw him, he extended a towel out to him. “Good hike?”

Stiles took it, shaking his head to spray Chris with water droplets. “Wet.”

Chris chuckled. “I can see that.” He grabbed the bottom of the towel, flipping it up over Stiles’ face, obscuring his view until it slipped off. 

Stiles smiled and stepped past him, slipping out of his wet shoes to leave them by the door.

“Peter went to meet Calvin and Derek. He’ll be back in a few hours.” Chris said.

Stiles nodded. Peter had been working on Isaac’s case practically non stop the last few weeks. He’d been in and out of the house, sometimes for days at a time. When he was home, he grumbled about the council needing to pull their heads from their asses. Calvin and Derek had been asked to gather information on one of the council members, who Peter refused to disclose to him. “For your own protection,” Peter insisted. “That way if they ask you can honestly say you didn’t know.” Stiles outright laughed and reluctantly agreed.

He rubbed the towel against his face, smiling at the flowery scent. 

Peter could also be meeting them because of the missing “pup”. There was only one way to know for sure, so he turned to Chris. “Did they get a break in the case?” 

Stiles saw it. A brief hesitation, the slight widening of his eyes. Dammit. Peter was looking into him. He bit his tongue. He’d already told them more then he ever intended, but he figured what he did mention was vague enough for them to not figure out who had him. 

“Isaac’s case?” Stiles prompt, noting the flash of relief across Chris’ features. “You guys are constantly talking about it.” He crossed the room, snatching up the blanket from the back of the couch and tossing the towel over the rack in the laundry room to dry. 

“No,” Chris said, deflated. “The council keeps pushing the court date, or is a hearing date? I don’t know what they’re calling it now. You’ll have to ask Peter. Anyway, it’s delayed again.” He watched as Stiles sat on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around him. “And we don’t _constantly _talk about it.”__

__“Yeah, you do.” Stiles wiggled his feet beneath him until he was sitting on them. He pointed a finger playfully at Chirs. “You guys don’t think I notice, but you talk under your breath to each other a _lot_.”_ _

__Chris stepped lightly around the coffee table. “And what exactly do we talk about?”_ _

__Stiles’ heart skipped a beat, did that make Chris think he was getting super hearing back? He was good, but he wasn’t good enough to play that off._ _

__Chris sat in the armchair, crossing his legs, eyes narrowed in speculation. Or he was just fishing for information, to see what Stiles had caught onto._ _

__“You talk about Isaac, but you talk about me, too.” Stiles said boldy, watching for any change in his posture or a minute reaction. “What makes it frustrating, is when I’m in the same room and you guys are talking about me.”_ _

__“We keep our voices down because we don’t want to make you upset about what we’re saying.”_ _

__“Is it something I should be upset about?” Stiles asked quickly. If they wanted him out of their house he’d leave. He’d be gone tomorrow. His stomach twisted. He’d miss them, he realized, then he shoved the emotion aside. He was _not_ going to get a crush on the first person to be nice to him. Besides, Chris had Peter, and they were happy together._ _

__“It’s mostly about who had you, what happened, how we can find out who did it.” Chris shrugged._ _

__It was the same things he wouldn’t tell them. Not that he hadn’t thought about spilling the beans about everything. He saw how Peter was pursuing the pack who had killed Isaac’s father. If Peter and Chris wanted to hurt him, they were the best actors Stiles had ever seen. He had no doubt they would never harm him._ _

__But if he told them about Deuc and Kali, they’d ask _why_ he was taken, and then it’d come out that he was just a “weak” human, and he didn’t want to go down that road. He wasn’t helpless. He wasn’t an animal to be ogled at, or locked up. He didn’t want to know what their reaction would be to finding out what he was. _ _

__All of that, on top of, Deuc and Kali not knowing where he currently was, also kept him quiet. If they knew he was here, they would take him back, and kill the Hales in the process. And the thought of Chris or Peter bleeding to death in the backyard was enough to make his adrenaline surge._ _

__Chris’ shoulders slumped and he leaned back in the chair, undoubtedly scenting the shift in his scent._ _

__Despite the ache in his chest, Stiles was still planning on leaving. It was for their protection, he told himself. And his own._ _

__He thought of the backpack in his closet, filled with clothes and whatever prepackaged food he could find in the kitchen. Which wasn’t much. Chris hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Peter didn’t like prepackaged food. That just meant that the first pocket of the backpack was filled with biscotti that Chris kept replenishing._ _

__He chewed on his bottom lip. He didn’t know how long he could survive on that. Maybe the next time one of them went to the store, he’d ask to go and beg for some granola bars._ _

__“What’s on your mind?” Chris asked._ _

__Stiles shrugged, nothing he could tell him._ _

__Chris opened his mouth and his phone rang from his pocket. He frowned, pulling it out and squinting at the caller ID. He swiped his thumb across the screen, bringing it to his ear. “Argent.”_ _

__Tingles exploded along the back of his neck, and Stiles sat up straighter. Argent?_ _

__Chris caught his expression and held up one finger, signaling in a moment, when someone coughed loudly on the other end of the phone. He stood from the chair, frown deepening into concern. “Jordan?”_ _

__Stiles watched Chris as he paced the length of the living room, listening as Jordan spoke._ _

__“Are you okay?”_ _

__Stiles could hear the pitch of his tone rise and fall but couldn’t make out what he was saying._ _

__“Hmm. Right,” Chris said, seriously. “No, I agree. I’ll be right there.” He hung up, turning to Stiles._ _

__“What happened?”_ _

__“There was an accident at the station, Jordan got hurt.”_ _

__Shock shot through him. It was rare for a werewolf to be hurt. “Will he be alright?”_ _

__“He says he will be. He’s at Deaton’s clinic. I’m going to see him,” Chris paused at the laundry room door on his way to grab his shoes. “Did you want to go?”_ _

__Stiles shook his head. “No, but tell him I hope he recovers quickly.” He didn’t know Jordan other then as the man who intercepted his escape plan at the station, but he didn’t wish him ill. He’d been doing his job at the time. Stiles couldn’t hold it against him too much._ _

__Chris nodded, leaning against the door frame to pull his shoes on. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be, Peter might be home before me.”_ _

__“That’s fine,” Stiles assured. He gave a small grin. “I’m not going anywhere.” Yet._ _

__Chris smiled back._ _

__Stiles’ heart melted. He watched him go through the door, out to the car in the garage, then he listened as the door raised and lowered. He counted to a hundred before standing from the couch._ _

__It wasn’t often he had the house to himself, and as much as part of him didn’t want to, his alone time was his time to pack. He had to take the opportunity when it arose, so he dragged himself to the kitchen to search the cabinets. Again._ _

__He set an individually wrapped biscotti on the counter. He’d be so sick of these by the time he got to New York. He stared at it sadly. He was taking something Peter enjoyed._ _

__He ran his fingers over it guiltily and he put it back, pulling down a container of dried oatmeal. If he portioned some into a ziplock bag he’d be able to rehydrate it with tap water._ _

__He sifted through the lower cabinets looking for the ziplock bags, his mind wandering back to Chris _Argent_. Maybe Deuc had mentioned the name at some point. He’d told Stiles a lot about the Hales, and how mean they were, abusing their power as a pack. _ _

__It was entirely possible Deuc had thrown the Argent pack into his stories._ _

__Peter could be mean in a _courtroom_ , but at home he was a giant pushover. So was Isaac. He’d been leery of Isaac at first, a wolf learning control was terrifying to be around, but Isaac had surprised him. _ _

__When he offered Isaac the cookies he made, the back of his neck tingled so bad it hurt. He had tensed at the sensation, but no images of Isaac came back to him, he only felt _fear_ that he had no reason at the time to feel. _ _

__He didn’t have time to feel guilty after Isaac left because Chris had immediately suggested a hike, which sounded a lot better then sitting in the house stewing over what he’d done wrong. And by the time they’d gotten home, he’d all but forgotten the incident._ _

__Stiles located the bags and set them on the counter._ _

__He glanced over to the pictures that lined the walls around the dining nook. The Hales beamed back at him. He’d come to know a couple of their names, and could pick out Laura and Isaac in a few of them._ _

__He dumped a bit of oatmeal into the bag, careful not to take enough that it’d be noticable._ _

__Chris wasn’t in the pictures in the dining room. Stiles knew he was in a few in the living room. But now that he looked around and thought about the pictures he’d seen, they were all _Hales_. _ _

__He stood on his toes, placing the container back on the shelf he’d gotten it from. The box of wolfsbane tea bags sat on the lowest shelf of the same cabinet._ _

__Stiles looked around._ _

__He hadn’t heard Chris or Peter come back, but sometimes they were so quiet he didn’t hear them all._ _

__He started leaving his scent in the cabinet weeks ago, then slowly started touching closer and closer to the box until he finally picked it up a few times, reading the print on it._ _

__Chris had briefly told him about it when he was sick, but Stiles rarely took someone’s words at face value._ _

__The box claimed the tea bags could weaken a wolves response to allow caffeine or alcohol through to their system, and Stiles had seen both Chris and Peter place the bags in coffee after a long night. If it did that, he reasoned, it’d let in other things as well. And Stiles could never be too prepared._ _

__In theory, he’d handled it enough now to saturate the box with his scent. With Peter and Chris only seeing each other in passing at the moment, it’d be harder for them to know if the other grabbed one to get them through the day, or if Stiles had taken it._ _

__He pulled the box down and set it on the counter. He flipped a second ziplock bag inside out, using it to pick up one of the bags so the scent didn’t linger on his skin. He sealed the bag, squeezing out any excess air, and placed the tea bag box back on the shelf._ _

__Stiles gripped the bags and went upstairs to his room--no, the bedroom, he corrected, taking the steps two at a time._ _

__Once the oats and tea bag was stowed in the innermost zipper pocket of his bag, he shut the closet door and sighed. What the hell was he doing? He rested his hand on the wall, slowly dragging it down, imagining the scent trail he was leaving behind. He didn’t belong here. But he wanted to stay._ _

__He looked at the flowers he’d gotten from the store. He’d placed them on the dresser after they got home that day. The stems had perked right up after a couple weeks of consistent watering, and now almost all the flowers were in bloom. His heart sank, it was getting close to spring._ _

__Maybe if Chris’ pack teamed up with the Hales they’d both be able to stop Deuc and Kali, he sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting on his lap. But he didn’t know who the Argents were, what if they didn’t get along with the Hales?_ _

__Faceless images swirled through his mind, whisps of smoke that vanished the harder he tried to focus on them._ _

__Chris had to have pictures of them somewhere. If they got along. His heart twisted sadly, he’d give anything to know who his family was and have them back._ _

__He gazed at the flowers on the dresser. The faceless man in the garden laughed at something Stiles did and warmth spread through him, he smiled back. He was torn from the memory at a gentle knock on the doorframe._ _

__Peter stood just on the other side, looking in at him. “Chris told me he had to go to Deaton’s clinic so I came home early.”_ _

__Stiles nodded numbly. “Jordan got hurt.”_ _

__“Are you alright?” Peter asked. He lifted his nose scenting the air._ _

__Stiles jerked a shoulder in response, the unease at being scented wasn’t as strong as it used to be, but it was still there. “I was just thinking.”_ _

__“A dangerous pastime.” He leaned against the wall._ _

__Stiles recognized the movement of him settling in. Chris would do it too, wait him out when he didn’t want to ask something right away. It made him frustrated and grateful at the same time. Frustrated that they wouldn’t just let the topic drop, but grateful that they were patient enough to try._ _

__He rubbed his thumb along his wrist where the bracelet would sit. “There aren’t any pictures of Chris’ pack.” He said it like a statement, though he wasn’t sure if there were pictures in their room, or the office or library._ _

__Peter’s face fell, his gaze dropping to the floor for a brief second before rising back up to meet Stiles’. “No, he has a couple pictures, but they aren’t on display.”_ _

__“Are they alive?” He didn’t know which would be worse, alive but with a wedge drawn so deep between them they didn’t want to have anything to do with each other, or dead._ _

__“I think you should ask him about it,” Peter said, picking his words carefully. “It’s a heavy story.”_ _

__“He answered the phone “Argent” when Jordan called.” Stiles searched Peter’s face for any hint at a reaction. “It’s familiar, and I don’t know why.”_ _

__“Can I come in?” Peter motioned toward the room._ _

__Stiles scooted up on the bed, closer to the head rest. “It’s your house.”_ _

__Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes, but it’s _your_ room.” He stepped lightly across the carpet, taking a seat at the foot of the bed and turning to face him. _ _

__Stiles pulled one leg up onto the bed, tucking it beneath him, out of the way._ _

__“The Argent’s weren’t a popular pack, they did things that were against the law. If you looked their name up on the internet you’d find horror story after horror story.” Peter leveled him a look, listening to the pounding of his heart, carefully monitoring him to make sure he wasn’t spooked._ _

__“Chris wouldn’t hurt anybody.” Stiles crossed his arms._ _

__A slow sad smile spread across Peter’s face. “He really needs to be here for this conversation.”_ _

__Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. The monsters that Deuc referred to, was that Chris? “He won’t hurt me?” he tried to make it a statement, but his voice wobbled and it turned into a question._ _

__“Never,” Peter assured quickly._ _

__Stiles spread his hands against the blanket, needing to do something with them. He dragged them lightly across the top, back to his lap, and out again over the blanket._ _

__All wolves could be dangerous, he reminded himself._ _

__“Who he was, isn’t who he is now, but I need you to talk to him before you look anything up.”_ _

__Peter leveled him a serious look and Stiles nodded. He wasn’t planning on searching him anyway, despite the curiosity nibbling at him. Chris would be home later and he could ask him then, but he also didn’t want to drag up bad memories._ _

__It would be easier if his own memories weren’t clawed to hell and back._ _

__“I don’t like not remembering,” Stiles said, he looked up at Peter, his blue eyes were a different shade then Chris’. “Will it upset him if I ask?”_ _

__“I’d never tell you to do something that would upset him,” Peter rested his hand on the bed next to Stiles’ leg. “He would much rather you ask then worry yourself, or look him up and not understand what or why things happened like they did.”_ _

__He smiled dryly. “You make it sound like it was some big scandal.”_ _

__“Something like that.”_ _

__Stiles looked at Peter’s hand, it was close enough for him to reach out and touch. He recalled the way Chris had scented Isaac when he arrived, it was docile compared to the manhandling Deuc did. Someone who was that gentle couldn’t be a _mean_ person. On top of that, he went out of his way to help Isaac, and Erica. Even him. _ _

__“He’s not a bad person.”_ _

__“No, he’s not,” Peter smiled, and the butterflies sprung to life in Stiles’ stomach. He had a crush on both of them, he realized. He closed his eyes; he was in trouble. This was bad. They were happily together, and he was planning on _leaving_. It was fine, everything was good, he could look, he just couldn’t _act_. People got over crushes all the time...right?_ _

__The bed shifted and Stiles opened his eyes._ _

__Peter was glancing around the room, nostrils flaring, a worried pinch wrinkling his eyes._ _

__“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked._ _

__Peter shook his head, turning back to him._ _

__“That won’t work,” he said, pulling his other leg up on the bed so he could cross them. “If you want me to talk, you’ve got to start talking too. What are you smelling?” He tried to keep his breathing even, did Peter smell the wolfsbane or oatmeal?_ _

__Peter scowled, but heat never reached his eyes. He sighed, head falling forward slightly in defeat. “I was concerned, because when you came here you smelled like a wolf, but here, in your room, I don’t smell it.” Stiles’ heart skipped a beat and he continued, “You’ve been outside enough, and Omega’s scents are faint anyway, I brushed it off thinking it was too faint for me to trace. But you don’t smell like a wolf now.”_ _

__“Omega’s don’t smell like wolves?” Stiles asked cautiously._ _

__Peter shook his head. “Not always, depending on how long they’ve been one, but you smelled like one when you arrived, so it’s concerning.” He winced, trying to hide the sad look that overcame his face._ _

___Oh_. He thought Stiles was regressing instead of making progress. “It’s nothing you’re doing,” he said quickly._ _

__Peter lifted an eyebrow, not believing him. “I think I’ve been doing this a bit longer than you have. I notice the signs.”_ _

__Apparently not, Stiles shrugged. “The only reason I smelled like a wolf is because De-they made me wear their clothes.” Stiles rested his hand on Peters, drawing the man's attention solely to him. He smiled,“I’ve never been told I smell like one before.” Theo would go on tangents about how unnatural he smelled. Even Deuc would sneer when he caught his scent on something._ _

__“That might be _more_ concerning,” Peter said, brow pulling down farther. _ _

__Shit. “Nonsense, do you go up to Laura and say “you smell like a wolf today” or are you more likely to point out something odd about her scent?”_ _

__The frown fell away and Peter grinned. “Good point, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone they smell like a wolf unless it’s another wolf’s scent on them.”_ _

__“I saw Chris scent Isaac,” Stiles said slowly, steering the topic in another direction. “Does it bother you that I don’t smell like you?” Deuc was always happiest when he smelled like him._ _

__“No,” Peter shook his head, turning his hand over so he could hold Stiles’. “Your scent lingers through the house, it’s settling, in a peaceful sort of way.” He paused and lifted an eyebrow, analyzing Stiles’ expression. “Do you want to be scented?”_ _

__“I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference,” he admitted. “ _He_ used to scent me.” Stiles focused on a spot where the blanket curled up, creating a small shadowed cave. Deuc was easier to talk about when he didn’t have to see Peter or Chris’ reaction. “He wasn’t gentle like Chris was with Isaac.” _ _

__“Your back?”_ _

__Stiles looked up in surprise and caught Peter’s own surprised expression, he hadn’t meant to ask, Stiles guessed. He shook his head. “No, that was from something else. I made him mad.” He frowned, it had been from a combination of trying to run and back talking. He’d made it outside the apartment complex before Deuc dragged him back inside kicking and screaming. He said he’d give Stiles something to cry about. And he had. “His mate was pissed, she chewed him up one side and down the other. I was hers first.”_ _

__Peter gently squeezed his hand. “They won’t hurt you again.”_ _

__Stiles gave him a small smile. Peter couldn’t promise that._ _

__“May I?” Peter turned, holding his other hand up in a silent question. “It’s okay if you don’t want me to.”_ _

__Stiles nodded, Peter wasn’t like Deuc or Kali, he wouldn’t hurt him. Neither would Chris. He trusted both of them, and _that_ was nerve wracking. _ _

__He leaned forward, shutting his eyes._ _

__Peter’s fingers brushed against his temple, they were feather light and warm as they trailed down his cheek and jaw. The movement was slow and careful, Stiles had no doubt Peter was listening to him and scenting him carefully to make sure he didn’t overstep any lines._ _

__He stilled, but didn’t tense._ _

__The touch was so unlike what he’d felt at Deucs hands, it was nice, and comforting. Peter’s hand cupped his cheek, thumb resting just under his eye. He knew where his hand was going before it slid down to his neck. His fingers curled inward so only the backs of his knuckles brushed against his skin there, following the curve of his neck down to where part of his collar bone was exposed from his shirt._ _

__His heart thumped in his ears when the touch stopped, and he opened his eyes._ _

__Peter pulled his hand back, a small smile playing on his lips. “Done.”_ _

__Stiles leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Peter’s shoulders. The movement sent him wobbling toward the edge of the bed and Peter had no choice but to hold him to prevent him from toppling off the edge._ _

__He turned his face into Peter’s neck, taking a moment to just feel the arms around him and acknowledging he was _safe_. _ _

__Peter didn’t pull away until Stiles leaned back, looking over him carefully. “Are you okay?”_ _

__Stiles nodded, he was fine. For once._ _

__

__Chris came home shortly after Stiles had left his room to go downstairs. Peter followed with a book from the library and sat in the same armchair Chris liked to sit in._ _

__The laundry room door swung open and Chris stepped into the living room, shoving his phone in his pocket._ _

__“How’s Jordan?” Peter asked as Chris tossed his keys on the counter._ _

__“Slowly healing.” Chris came back to the living room, taking the seat on the opposite end of the couch, closest to Peter, a small frown of confusion worked its way across his face._ _

__Stiles wondered if Peter’s scent was stronger than usual on him. “What happened?”_ _

__Chris ran a hand over his face. “The interrogation rooms at the station have the ability to be set to a recycled air function, and _apparently_ they were working on a wolfsbane laughing gas to try and calm aggravated wolves within them. The vents weren’t responding to controls so Jordan went to the room to look closer, see if maybe something was jammed. The gas went off, the vents wouldn’t open, and he was burned and knocked unconscious.”_ _

__Stiles’ eyes widened, that was a lot. “Damn.”_ _

__Peter whistled. “Any ideas on why the gas went off?”_ _

__Chris shook his head. “Tara’s looking into it, it was her pet project. But they’re thinking he hit a wire or something when he was trying to fix the vent. He can’t remember much about what happened.”_ _

__“Who’s Tara?” Stiles frowned._ _

__“The lady who’s badge you tried to run off with.”_ _

__“They’ll never find who did it if she’s in charge.” Stiles slumped against the arm of the couch, that sucked for Jordan._ _

__Peter let out a surprised laugh. “I like how much faith you have in the Beacon Hills Police Department.”_ _

__“Just her. Jordan caught me.” Stiles shrugged, there wasn’t much to say, she’d let a freshly caught criminal swipe her badge from her belt and run with it. She wasn’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box._ _

__They fell into a short silence before Chris asked, “Did you two do anything interesting?”_ _

__“We had a nice talk,” Peter nodded._ _

__“Oh?” Chris looked up, catching something Stiles didn’t._ _

__“Answering the phone as “Argent” tends to raise questions.”_ _

__“Oh.” Chris’ face fell._ _

__“Peter, don’t, it’s fine,” Stiles said, jumping in before Chris could respond. He thought about asking Chris about it when he got home, but it was his past to tell, and neither of them were prying him for information. It didn’t feel like the right time to bring it up, if at all._ _

__“I told you, you should have become a Hale.”_ _

__“I wanted to keep my last name, Peter. That doesn’t mean we aren’t mates.”_ _

__Peter shrugged._ _

__Stiles looked out the backdoor, away from them. Recently he was able to clue in to their longstanding arguments easier and he wanted no part of it. Arguments led to fights._ _

__Behind him, Chris sighed in defeat, but his tone was soft when he asked him, “What do you know about my pack?”_ _

__Stiles turned back to him, shaking his head. “Nothing, it was just a…” he wiggled his fingers behind his neck, trying to imitate the tingling he felt. “Like I _should_ know, but I don’t.”_ _

__Chris nodded. “That’s understandable, we’ve been in the news a few times.” He tried to smile but it came out in a grimace._ _

__“You don’t have to tell me.” Stiles said quickly._ _

__“You should know,” Chris glanced past him through the backdoor, out into the yard. “I would rather tell you myself then have you find out through somebody else.”_ _

__Stiles nodded, that’s what Peter had said earlier too. He shoved his feet under Chris’ leg to warm them up. Chris smiled at the action, his family might not be good, but he was._ _

__He took a breath, steadying himself. “I grew up hunting Omegas and Feral wolves.”_ _

___What_? Stiles blinked at him. He couldn’t begin to imagine Chris hunting anybody, let alone the people he was helping now. _ _

__He glanced at Peter who had his lips pressed tightly together and was staring at the book in his hands, not reading._ _

__“My father was an extremist who believed they could never regain control, and would never be able to reenter society. So, he taught my sister and I to kill them. He said it was being merciful. It was all she and I knew.” Chris looked down at the carpet in regret. “I was young when I met someone. We fell apart rather quickly. I didn’t know I had a daughter until the police station called me years later.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed it to Stiles._ _

__A photo of a dark haired girl smiled back at him._ _

__“Her mother died, leaving her alone. Friends tried to step in to offer her pack, but she rejected them. She fell into an Omega status and was taken into custody by the local police before they called me. By the time I got there she’d convinced herself she was human because she didn’t want to be part of a wolf society.” Chris smiled weakly. “Kate and my father wanted to have nothing to do with her and urged me to give her “mercy” because there was “no hope”.”_ _

__Stiles handed him the wallet back, his heart stuck in his throat. No wonder Chris tried so hard to help the Omegas that came into his house, his daughter had been one._ _

__“Allison was mad I wasn’t there when she was little, or when Victoria died. I left my pack and brought her here to California. She lived a year before she got sick.” His voice wavered, chin wobbling. “I couldn’t save her. I swore Kate and my father had something to do with her death. They’d made an appearance the week before she got sick. I took them to the council, and they walked free. There wasn’t enough evidence to show that they had anything to do with making her sick.” He looked at Stiles, the hurt in his eyes made his chest ache. “So, I hunted them like they taught me to hunt others.”_ _

__Stiles swallowed dryly, he could see why Peter insisted Chris tell him this story._ _

__“I got my revenge, and I was caught. By that point I knew Peter in passing, who was in college at the time. He talked the officers into letting me out of the interrogation room, and convinced the council to drop charges. They took the Alpha pack power I gained from killing my father and considered it fair. I moved in with Peter shortly after and began the courses to help Omegas, legally.”_ _

__“How many Omegas have you helped since then?” Stiles asked. His voice didn’t waiver, and he was glad, he trusted Chris, and he needed him to know that his past didn’t change who he was now._ _

__“Isaac and Erica, and a few others that have been able to be reunited with a pack better suited to help them.” Chris smiled at the memories. “Allison and one other have been the only ones I’ve lost.”_ _

__Stiles rested a hand on his shoulder. Chris tilted his head until his cheek was resting on the back of it. “Thank you for telling me.”_ _

__Chris nodded. “Like I said, you should probably know.” He sat straight again, rubbing his face with his hands._ _

__If Stiles’ memory wasn’t messed up he probably would have already known. But he appreciated Chris telling him nonetheless. It sounded like a story he’d have heard about on the news, or straight from Deuc himself at some point. Deuc would have used it as a warning though, and Stiles was partly glad he didn’t remember incase it colored his view of Chris from when they first met._ _

__Stiles chewed on the inside of his bottom lip. “How’d you know Allison wasn’t human, aside from parentage. Is there a difference between them and Omegas?”_ _

__“Humans aren’t around like they used to be,” Peter said._ _

__No shit. “They were hunted,” Stiles nodded. “Because they’re weak.”_ _

__“Yes, and no,” Chris turned so he could see Stiles’ face. “To answer your question, there isn’t much difference. If you sat two side by side, unless the Omega was able to flash their eyes or smelled like a wolf, no one would be able to tell them apart. But humans make a pack stronger.”_ _

__Stiles gaped. “What?”_ _

__“Humans don’t feel bonds like wolves do, and really there aren’t even bonds formed with them. But where a wolf's nature is rambunctious and wild, a human close by settles them, an anchor if you will. A human also gives the pack something to protect, it unifies them, even distant pack members will join together if a human is involved.”_ _

__Peter nodded in agreement. “It’s an instinctive reaction, and less of a protect the ‘weak’ response as a symbiotic relationship. Humans ground wolves, wolves offer them a safe place to live.”_ _

__Stiles’ blood pulsed in his ears, he’d never been _protected_ at Deuc and Kali’s. But apparently they were getting something with him being there._ _

__Peter’s gaze slid over Chris’ shoulder to meet Stiles’, “We used to have three humans who lived here, on Hale territory.”_ _

__His heart skipped a beat. Were they talking about him? Kali said she got him from Beacon Hills. He had a _family_? That’s why the creek must have looked familiar, he’d been there before! “What happened to them? Are they still here?”_ _

__There was a beat of silence before Peter said, “Two of them died.”_ _

__A crushing sadness washed over him. The faceless man and a vague outline of a woman crumbled to dust._ _

__It’s alright, he told himself, trying to get a grip on the emotion. You’re in the same place you were before you knew. You can’t lose something you didn’t _have_. His thoughts were empty. The unknown loss still hurt. _ _

__The man in the garden laughed at something he did, and he shoved the memory away. It hurt _badly_._ _

__“That’s sad,” he muttered, pulling the blanket off the back of the couch, draping it over his legs._ _

__Chris nodded and Stiles hoped they took his reaction as the need to protect that Chris had mentioned._ _

__“Humans aren’t bought and sold then?” He asked weakly, he thought he knew the answer now but he wanted validation._ _

__“Never,” Peter said quickly. “There are legal hoops to jump through, and the Council considers the power of the pack they’re going to before an agreement is made. Can the pack protect the human, and what are their motives behind offering to house one. If they just want them to draw more pack members for power, they’re not even considered as a host.”_ _

__“Usually, humans move around as they please,” Chris tacked on. “If they want to change packs it’s arranged, even if it does take time. Unfortunately they’re limited in what they can do themselves, but they aren’t animals, the Council does try to let them do what they want, make their own decisions.”_ _

__Stiles nodded slowly, a heavy weight sitting on his chest. He wasn’t an animal._ _

__

__Around two in the morning Stiles jerked awake, heart pounding._ _

__Even though his eyes were open, he could still see the man from the garden, sprawled in the grass in front of the flowers, heart slowly pulsing next to his body as the life faded from his eyes._ _

__He rolled out of bed, quietly padding into Chris and Peter’s room._ _

__Peter looked up at the sound of the door opening, Chris just pulled back the covers, allowing him to crawl between them._ _

__Stiles laid between them in the darkness until the adrenaline faded and he was able to drift back off to sleep._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Warnings for talk of losing a child despite trying to help. Also hints at murder of family members (Kate and Gerard)***


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter but there are things in it that needed to happen. For what it's worth, I hope everyone likes it :)
> 
> ***Warnings at the end of the chapter***

“Is the egg pie done?” Stiles kicked his legs up on the chair across from him.

“It’s a quiche,” Peter sighed. 

This was the third time he’d corrected Stiles since he came down from the bedroom. It had quickly become a game as Stiles tried to see how much he could ruffle his feathers.

He didn’t miss the smile on Peter’s face as he turned away, trying to hide his amusement.

“I saw you put a dozen eggs in a pie dish, it’s an egg pie.” Stiles shrugged.

Last night, after he’d climbed in bed with them, he’d gotten the best sleep he had in weeks. He didn’t get tangled in the sheets, or think he heard someone outside.

Peter pulled the pie tin from the oven and Stiles stared pointedly at it. The eggs had fluffed up, along with other ingredients that Peter had placed in there, it looked and smelled amazing, despite the contradiction of the food and the dish.

He lifted an eyebrow, mimicking the expression Peter and Chris used.

Peter sighed, setting the container on the oven to cool. “Why don’t you go read your book?” 

Stiles grinned. “But you’re so much fun to be around.” He widened his eyes, aiming for alook of complete innocence.

Peter stared flatly back. 

“How will I _ever_ learn how to cook without watching at you and asking questions.” When he first arrived at the house, Peter’s stern expression would have put him on edge, but now he could see the tightened skin around his eyes and the slight pressure of his lips pressing together as he fought a smile. 

“Flattery won’t get you very far.”

Stiles hummed in disagreement and Peter’s expression broke into a smile. “If flattery can’t get you far, you’re doing it wrong.”

The smile turned into a chuckle and Stiles grinned with him as Chris came around the base of the stairs.

He was fully dressed, hair still damp from the shower. “I need to go back to the clinic,” he announced. “Jordan called again, and thinks he knows what happened.”

Stiles looked over, “Oh?”

Chris stepped into the kitchen, kissing Peter on the cheek. “I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

Peter grabbed a plastic container from one of the cabinets and a spatula from next to the fridge, scooping some of the quiche into it for him. 

Chris smiled appreciatively. “Why don’t you two go pick some seeds out for the garden? When I get back we can start them.”

“Isn’t it too cold still?” Stiles asked, frowning. It was California but it wasn’t _that_ warm.

“We usually start them in the house, in egg shells.” Chris looked pointedly at the carton of cracked shells on the counter. “Then we plant the whole shell when it warms up and it decomposes, giving the plant nutrients.”

“Smart.” Stiles nodded approvingly. “That’d be kind of fun.”

Chris smiled at him, taking the container of food Peter was handing him. “Have fun. I look forward to seeing what you pick out.” He crossed the kitchen, grabbing his wallet on his way to the laundry room.

Stiles took the plate Peter was now handing him. 

The quiche was as good as it smelled.

Stiles sat in the passenger seat of Peter’s car as they backed out of the driveway. He waited until they were on the main road before reaching for the radio buttons, and he quickly found a station playing something happy with a solid beat.

From the corner of his eye, Peter watched him with a smile.

They headed toward the same store they’d been to before, the one where Stiles got his plant and had all the weird human things. 

“They have the best garden section,” Peter explained. 

Stiles hummed and nodded, turning in the seat to watch trees pass by. “Why do they carry jackets?” He twisted the sleeve of his own between his fingers.

“Most cities have at least one store that caters toward Omegas and humans.”

“Interesting.” Stiles hadn’t ever heard of that, but he hadn’t heard of a lot of things before moving in with them. And if he _had_ heard of it, what he thought he knew was being shattered. 

They pulled into the lot and Peter quickly found a spot. It was considerably fuller then the last time they’d been there, and Stiles’s heart immediately began to race, suddenly regretting his comment that this would be fun. The planting would be fun, the shopping would be awful.

Peter turned off the car, sitting for a moment in silence, taking in Stiles’ sudden shift in emotions. “Do you want to come back another day?”

Stiles shook his head, they were already here, and he wanted to start planting. Once they got home he was going to be fine. He just needed to get through the store. 

He took a deep breath and pushed the car door open, signalling his commitment to going inside.

Peter got out behind him.

They crossed the lot and entered the double doors, turning right to go toward the garden center. 

Stiles fought the urge to hunch his shoulders each time someone passed. A couple people made eye contact, another blatantly turned to stare. 

His heart was in his throat by the time they stepped into the fenced area. He reached out, taking Peter’s hand. He wasn’t alone, no one was looking for him here.

The garden section was teeming with plants. A stark contrast to the barren wasteland Stiles had seen almost two months ago. 

Peter gently pulled him toward a rack of seeds. “You pick.”

Stiles stared at the yellow and green packaging. There were so many options. “Aren’t you going to pick any?”

“We pick them out every year, it’s your turn.”

Stiles ran his fingers over the packages. There were mostly vegetables, but he could see some flowers, and even several fruits.

He hooked his fingers around a pack that grew pumpkins, then pushed it back, those were for later in the summer. 

“Are you okay if I grab a bag of soil while you look?” Peter asked, watching him carefully. 

Stiles nodded. “I’ll be here.” He grabbed a pack of carrot seeds from the rack.

“I’ll be right back.” Peter stepped away, almost immediately vanishing around an island of fruit trees. 

He briefly wondered when the orchard would be in bloom, and watched as the back of Peter’s dress shirt slowly got farther away through the branches. He turned back to the seeds, sifting through the various packs. 

Peter hadn’t told him how many to grab, but they were only a dollar. If he needed to put some back, he would.

He had seven packs clutched in his hand as he turned and looked to see where Peter had gone. 

The soil couldn’t be too far away, he’d seen the direction he went. 

Stiles weaved between pallets of pots and a row of outdoor seating. 

Earthy scents of dirt and flowers filled the air, making his sinuses itch. It was the one downside to having a garden. 

If he closed his eyes he could imagine himself out in the preserve, the thoughts of the tall trees and seemingly endless trails made a small part of him relax.

It wasn’t long before he came to an aisle of only soil. 

He glanced down the row, and when he didn’t see Peter, he stepped to the other side. He still had his head turned when his shoulder bumped somebody. He jerked back, an apology half formed on his lips, but the words caught in his throat.

He didn’t recognize her right away since she was out of uniform, but Tara sneered, her lip curling up over sharpened teeth. 

Stiles took an involuntary step back, bringing his hands up so they were level with his chest. The movement caused his jacket sleeves to fall, exposing his bare wrists. 

He wasn’t wearing the bracelet. He hadn’t thought to grab it. Usually Chris had one when they went places. 

His heart hammered painfully in his chest. 

Tara stepped toward him. He stepped back, down into the aisle and out of view of the open part of the store.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Tara demanded.

Stiles kept backing away. Peter said he would be over here. He glanced around hopefully. 

A hand shot out, grabbing his forearm. He yelped, trying to jerk it back, but claws dug into his arm, his stomach rolled as the flesh was cut open. His veins ran cold with fear, and behind him, someone roared. 

Tara jumped back, her claws gone nearly as fast as they’d come. She snarled at someone over his shoulder. It was the same way Deuc leapt back when he made Kali mad. 

Peter appeared next to him, his own claws and fangs were extended, and his eyes were glowing red. 

Tara’s eyes flashed gold.

The noise in the rest of the store stopped, leaving a ringing silence in its place. Two workers appeared on either end of the aisle, each braced to break up a fight. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Peter demanded, stepping in front of Stiles so he was between them.

Stiles gripped his forearm where Tara had grabbed it. It stung, and he could feel the warm trickle of blood dripping toward his elbow. His knees began to shake.

“He’s an unmarked Omega, I had to step in.” Tara growled. “I was going to take him back to the station.”

Peter glanced back at him, taking in his wrist. Guilt twisted across his face, but it was gone before he turned back to her, replaced by anger. “ _I’m_ with him.”

“You weren’t,” Tara snarled, her words hindered by fangs.

Stiles wasn’t afraid of Peter, but the adrenaline was there. The memories that haunted his nightmares lingerd on his back. Claws against his skin, the warm blood tracking down his flesh. He couldn’t make out what Peter said in response, but Tara was backing away, turning to resume shopping for whatever she’d come in for.

Stiles could see her between the shelves as she went back into the main part of the store. He watched until he couldn’t tell if it was her or someone else. 

“Stiles.”

He blinked, taking a moment to realize Peter was in front of him now. He leaned forward into his chest, and Peter’s arms wrapped gently around him. “I’m sorry. I forgot the bracelet.”

“It’s not your fault,” Peter said quickly. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

Stiles turned his face into his neck, trying to relax enough to make the trembling stop. He heard the workers rush off to get a first aid kit, and he could practically feel the guilt washing off of Peter. 

“Not your, responsibility.” The shaking was making it hard to speak, and Stiles ground his teeth together. 

Peter huffed, “It kind of is.”

A worker returned with bandages and gauze, talking quickly about what they had on hand if asking if it was enough. 

Peter nodded and shooed them away, making quick work of wrapping the wound. “It doesn’t look deep but we’re going to have to clean it and rebandage it when we get home.”

Stiles nodded, holding the packets of seeds out to him. “Garden, too?” His whole torso was trembling now, despite the fact that his mind felt fine. He didn’t feel scared anymore, but his body was reacting like he was. The claw marks on his arm weren’t nearly as bad as what he’d been through in the past. 

Peter winced. “Perhaps another time.”

“Today.” Stiles shook his head. They came here for seeds and soil, he wasn’t going to leave empty handed, especially after this. Peter looked down and Stiles continued, forcing the words out. “I’m not scared because of you.”

“I know,” Peter lifted his gaze to meet his. 

It’d taken a bit more convincing but Peter led him through the checkout line with the seeds and a bag of soil, making sure he was next to him the entire time. 

Peter didn’t say a word the whole drive home, his knuckles tightening and relaxing against the steering wheel. 

Stiles held his arm as he drove, the pressure kept it from hurting quite as bad. His heart pounded and he felt sick, despite his best efforts, his legs bounced uncontrollably. 

This was bullshit, he decided as they pulled into the drive. Mentally he felt _fine_ , but physically he looked and felt like a mess. He tensed and relaxed his muscles, but the tremors continued. 

Peter parked in the garage and Stiles got out, automatically making his way to the laundry room and kicking off his shoes. He pivoted, stepping into the downstairs bathroom and sat on the lid of the toilet seat. 

Every muscle in his body was spasming. He could feel the slice of flesh as Deuc grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him toward the wall. His feet caught beneath him. He stumbled. Claws slashed through the air, tearing through his shirt, deep into his back. 

“I found the first aid kid.” Peter came through the doorway holding the bright red kit. He crouched next to him, the worry on his face made Stiles fill with rage.

“I’m not, sc-scared of you,” he ground out, repeating what he had said in the store. He yanked his sleeve up so Peter could see the bandages from before. They were loose, and already starting to come off. 

“I know you aren’t.” Peter held his hand out, palm up, and Stiles placed his arm in it. “Your body is releasing the fear you felt.” 

Stiles glared, just because Peter made his reaction sound logical didn’t mean it wasn’t making Peter feel guilty. Stiles felt he should have thought to grab the bracelet. 

Thick black lines wove up Peter’s arm, and the sting from the injury faded. When Stiles was left numb and staring, he began to unwind the bandages from the store. 

They stuck to the wound where blood had dried. And Stiles found himself suddenly grateful for Peter’s insight to use the pain drain thing.

Peter wiped around the area with an alcohol wipe, deftly grabbing a new roll of gauze and a telfa pad to wrap the marks.

Stiles rested his cheek against the counter, watching the process. “I shouldn’t have been scared enough to shake. I felt like I’ve been doing well, not being scared.” Tears bit at the backs of his eyes and he tried to blink them away. His breath hitched and they slid down his cheeks.

“Healing isn’t a linear process,” Peter said gently. “Some days you’ll feel great and others will feel like your brain spiraled down a rabbit hole of the past.”

Stiles sniffed, wiping his cheek against his shoulder.

“Both are completely normal reactions as you process what you’ve been through.” Peter taped off the end of the gauze, making sure it was firm enough to stay in place but not tight enough to cut off circulation. “If you want to talk to a professional, Chris and I will help you find a therapist. And if you want to talk to us, you know we’ll listen.”

Stiles nodded, pulling his arm back and holding it against his chest. “They did so much worse, this was _nothing_.” He hunched forward.

“Stiles.” He looked up at his name, Peter was leaning toward him so they were eye to eye. “You were grabbed and clawed, unprovoked, you have every right to be upset.”

Stiles surged forward, wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

“None of that, it’s not your fault.” Peter’s arms came up, resting lightly around his back. “Come on, let’s go sit on the couch and turn on one of those animal documentaries.” He stood, and Stiles’ arms slid off from around him.

Peter held out a hand and he took it, allowing him to guide him to the couch.

Peter sat first, Stiles sat next to him, leaning over so he was pressed up against his side, trying to prove to his body that Peter was nice and it didn’t need to react like this. An arm came to rest around his shoulders, and the other grabbed the TV remote.

Stiles didn’t see which documentary Peter chose, but when he looked up water filled the screen and a pod of whales swam by.

Peter placed the remote on the armrest, and let his hand fall in his lap.

Stiles stared at it, tentatively reaching out and picking it up.

Peter’s gaze shifted to watch him, but he left his hand limp, allowing him to handle it.

The narrator began talking about the types of whales they were following on their expedition but Stiles wasn’t listening. He turned Peter’s hand over, running the tips of his fingers along his palm.

Since he’d been here, this was the first time he had seen either Chris or Peter shift. Deuc used to shift a lot. Flashing eyes, claws, fangs, once Stiles had even pushed him to the point of half shifting. “Can you extend your claws?”

“Stiles,” Peter said softly, his voice filled with sadness. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Stiles twisted his neck to look up at him. “Why?” He flipped Peter’s hand back over. “You won’t hurt me.”

“Of course not, but you just had a bad experience with someone and scarring yourself again won’t make you feel better.”

Stiles frowned. “It wasn’t her claws that scared me. It was when they broke my skin. Please?”

Peter winced, but Stiles could see his expression cracking. “I want it known that I don’t support this decision.”

Stiles squeezed his hand reassuringly. “You don’t scare me.”

Peter watched him closely as claws slowly extended from the tips of his fingers on the hand that Stiles held. 

He watched in fascination, running his thumb along the hardened nails. The claws themselves weren’t threatening, the threatening part had always been the action that came after they were extended. 

Peter’s thumb twitched when Stiles traced the lines on his palms and he smiled at the thought that Peter might be ticklish. He placed his hand on top of Peter’s. “Thank you,” he said, and rested his head on his shoulder. The claws retracted against his palms.

By the time the documentary was over the trembling had stopped, leaving Stiles exhausted. Every time he closed his eyes images of Deucalion flashed in front of him and he would jerk awake again. 

Peter made sure he didn’t fall off the couch, but other then that he did his best not to touch him too much, allowing Stiles to initiate all the contact. 

He pressed his face into Peter’s shoulder. 

Tonight after it got dark was going to be hell. Night made everything worse. He didn’t have the distractions of the day to keep his mind occupied, and suddenly every creak of the house became a footstep, and every shadow became a body.

“Do you think it’d be possible to get something to help me sleep?” It was the first time Stiles had asked for something since their shopping trip, but a dreamless, peaceful sleep sounded amazing, and he didn’t want to keep either of them up with his tossing and turning. 

“I’ll text Chris and ask him to bring you something home.” Peter pulled his arm out from around him, texting something quickly on his phone. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

Chris replied almost instantly, sending Peter’s phone vibrating across the couch. Peter read him the message, Chris was asking Deaton for something now, and he asked if everything was alright.

Peter texted him back, a longer message than before, and Stiles could only imagine him explaining the situation. He sighed guiltily. Maybe they could still plant the seeds later. 

A third message came through saying Chris got the medicine and would be home as soon as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Warning for Stiles having a PTSD reaction to being grabbed in the store, claws pierce his skin and it reminds him of Deuc attacking him***


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles was asleep curled up against Peter on the couch when Chris opened the door to the laundry room. 

He had texted Peter just before he left the clinic saying he’d gotten the medication from Deaton and was heading home. His brow furrowed in concern, meeting Peter’s gaze from across the room. 

“He’s going to wake up soon,” Peter said, cutting off any questions Chris was about to ask. “He hasn’t slept longer than fifteen minutes at a time.”

Chris stepped into the kitchen, setting his things on the counter. “What happened?”

“An off duty officer noticed he didn’t have on the bracelet and grabbed his arm.” Peter’s gaze hardened and Chris balked. 

“With _claws_? That’s a bit violent, he’s not going to throw them over his shoulder and run off.” Chris turned so Peter could see him over the back of the couch. “Where were you?”

Peter winced. “Close, but not close enough. I stepped away to grab a bag of soil, I didn’t even consider the bracelet being an issue.” He glanced at the sleeping form on top of him. “I didn’t realize he didn’t have it.” Though he probably should have. Stiles was constantly trying to slip out of wearing the thing, and they had left the house together.

“Which officer, do you know?” Chris came over so he was standing just on the other side of the couch, a bottle of what Peter assumed to be sleep aids in his hand. 

“The new one,” Peter shrugged, he wasn’t in the station as much as Chris was, he only knew the officers who attended court cases.

“Tara,” Chris breathed, shutting his eyes. 

“The one he swiped the badge from?”

Chris nodded. “I’ll talk to Jordan about it. She shouldn’t have reacted that way, whether he injured her pride or not.” He leaned forward, brushing a brief kiss against the top of Peter’s head. “Jordan said Stiles’ wallet came in from San Francisco, I meant to pick it up on the way home but got distracted.”

A thin smile crossed Peter’s face, he couldn’t imagine what had caused his mate to rush home. “I can go get it if you want to stay with Stiles. I’d like to try to get a scent off of it before the evidence bag is opened.” He took a slow deep breath. “And I need to go by the pack house. Laura wants to do something for the full moon with the whole family. Including Stiles.”

Chris swore under his breath, shaking his head. “We’ve talked to her about this, he’s not ready.”

Peter nodded wearlily. “Yes.”

“She wasn’t like this with Isaac.” Chris crossed his arms across his chest, lips pursed in thought.

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat and he ducked his chin to his chest.

Peter shifted his weight against the couch, causing just enough movement to rouse Stiles before the dream progressed to a jump scare.

He took a shuddering breath, blinking unseeingly around the living room. His eyes lit up when he saw Chris, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You’re home.”

Chris smiled back, stepping around the edge of the couch to take the seat on the other end, next to Stiles. The simple happiness in response to Stiles’ greeting was contagious, and Peter found himself smiling at the pair of them.

“How’s your arm feeling?” Chris asked.

Stiles sat up and promptly tipped over so he was leaning against Chris. “Sore, could be worse.”

Peter stood, “I’ll be back soon.” 

It was nice seeing Stiles so calm around them. It’d taken a while to earn his trust, but now Peter was sure they had it.

Black lines trailed up Chris’ arm where he’d placed his hand on Stiles’ and Peter went off to put his shoes on.

He said a quick goodbye, kissing CHris on the cheek and brushing his hand across the top of Stiles’ head. He tensed as he realized what he did. 

Chris stilled and they both waited for Stiles to react to the contact.

He smiled back at Peter, eyes half closed. “Drive safe.”

Peter smiled back. “Will do.”

He drove to the station first, parking in the lot, he got out, quickly making his way to the front door. 

The door swung inwards and he stepped inside, the general thrum of conversation mixed with the clacking of keys from officers typing reports in adjoining rooms. The stench in the air had his nose wrinkling. 

Beneath the sweat and fear, a familiar scent made his hackles raise. The feeling of _bad_ associated with it made him look around for the threat.

Tara stood by the counter, still out of uniform, talking to another officer. 

Both looked up as he approached. He put on his best award winning smile and ignored Tara’s scent of rage. “Hello, ladies.”

“Mr. Hale,” the other officer greeted, setting down the report she’d been looking at. “What can I do for you?” She squinted at him thoughtfully. 

The action was familiar, Peter realized, only the person he was used to seeing the expression on was older and sat on the council. His smile widened as he recognized Satomi’s granddaughter, all grown up. Damn, it’d been a while. “A package should have arrived from San Francisco containing a wallet for one of my clients, I would like that package, please.”

Kira turned back to the computer frowning as she typed something into the screen. 

Peter had seen that same look of concentration while she and Derek had been doing a project in high school. It was nice to see her again. He briefly wondered how long she’d been working for the station before her hands fell off the keyboard and she sighed, still frowning. 

“I’ll get it from the mailroom, I’ll be right back.”

Peter stepped back as she walked around the counter, stepping lightly across the lobby to a locked door next to the offices. She swiped her badge across the keypad and it flashed green, allowing her inside.

“You’re actually helping him?” Tara asked under her breath, eyes narrowed.

Peter lifted a brow at her, where the hell was this anger coming from? Certainly stealing a badge wasn’t worthy of this kind of reaction. “Yes, I am.”

The door to the mailroom opened again and Kira came back holding a thin paper envelope. That most definitely wasn’t an evidence bag. 

Peter could see the bulge of the wallet through the thin paper. “That’s a regular envelope.”

Kira nodded, holding it out to him. “It wasn’t marked as evidence in the computer. I guess whoever picked him up didn’t think it was worth saving.”

Peter stared at it. Evidence bags were designed to keep scents and other evidence contained. This envelope did little to nothing to retain anything. It was porus and he could see where it had gotten wet and soaked through to the other side. He forced a smile anyway, it wasn’t like Kira had done it. “Thank you.”

Kira nodded, stepping back up to the computer. “I hope you still find what you’re looking for.”

Peter turned, walking back out to the car. It might not be a complete loss, he was still going to try and see if he could get a scent from it. But he couldn’t do that inside the station, there were too many foreign scents that his mind would latch onto. 

He sat in the driver's seat of the car and shut the door with a sigh. This hadn’t gone like he had hoped, but he shut the air vents anyway. The scents on the wallet would be faint, and he didn’t need any others mixing in or distracting him. 

He opened the envelope, bringing it close to his face, and inhaling. 

Paper and glue from the envelope itself hit him first. Then came the more faint scent of _Stiles_ , and blood. His brow twitched, and he took another breath, trying to search below the surface scents, but any scent of somebody else had been aired out. Or maybe this was one of the items Stiles kept hidden from his captors.

He slid the wallet out, it was brightly colored. Beneath the clear flap that was supposed to hold an ID sat a paper picture of a younger looking Stiles. 

Peter laughed. It was the worst fake ID he’d ever seen. No wonder San Francisco told Jordan Stiles didn’t have any ID on him, they probably didn’t realize this was supposed to be a forgery.

Whoever had printed it off their computer had also typed it at home, the font on one line slightly larger than the rest. Only Stiles’ first name was on it, and the address was listed as 123 Some Street. 

Peter rested his forehead against the steering wheel, it was too much to hope for a lead. 

Aside from the obnoxiously fake ID were a couple gas station rewards cards, one of which he knew had a location in town, the other he’d only seen across the Bay. 

When he opened the bill fold, he paused, taking in the amount of cash. Neither he nor Chris carried that much on them when they left the house, but then again, Stiles had been going to a bus station, and it wasn’t like he had cards to buy things with. 

He closed it, setting it in the middle console. He’d give it back to Stiles when he got home. 

He eased out of the parking lot, turning in the direction of the pack house, right now he had his oldest niece to deal with. 

Calvin and Derek hadn’t found anything on Deucalion or Kali to connect them as mates, or even living in the same apartment. The apartments they were seen going in and out of was secure, and had a very intimidating looking doorman according to Derek. They couldn’t follow them inside.

Even the curtains were drawn continuously. Which, to Peter, signalled they were hiding the fact that they were together, but having your curtains drawn wasn’t enough evidence for the council. Unfortunately. 

Calvin and Derek had also come up surprisingly empty in Stiles’ case. They couldn’t find any missing persons reports, no wanted criminals looked even close, Calvin had shaken his head and shrugged saying it was like he walked out of thin air. 

They needed a name or a birthday to narrow down the results of the nation wide search results, and Peter couldn’t give them either.

He pulled up to the front of the house where three cars sat double parked in front of the garage. It looked like almost everyone was home. 

Cora opened the front door before he could pull his key from the ignition. She scowled at him from beneath the awning. “You must have missed us _so_ much to come back twice in one day.” Sarcasm dripped from her tone and Peter got out of the car. “Oh, wait, that’s right, you only came this morning to talk to dad and Derek, are you going to greet the rest of the family now?”

Peter crossed the yard to her, jumping up the steps to the door. He cuffed a hand lightly against the side of her head. “I said I’d be back.”

She bumped her head against him, her expression lightening as she stepped aside so he could pass. “Uh huh.” She shut the door behind him, following him through the foyer. “Any great breaks in this mystery pup of yours?”

Peter followed the sound of heartbeats and breathing to the living room. Laura was perched on the recliner, surrounded by books for a class she was taking. 

Isaac sat on the floor with Derek in the middle of a game of Battleship. 

“Nothing helpful,” Peter admitted. He smiled at them, then his gaze settled on Laura. “What grand plans are you conjuring up this month for the new moon?”

Cora bristled next to him and Derek and Isaac glanced at each other, bracing for Laura’s reaction. 

Laura set her books to the side, turning to face him, brows raised judgingly. “No hello?” Damn if she didn’t look like Talia when she did that.

“Hello,” Peter greeted, keeping his tone light and not accusatory. “Stiles isn’t ready for pack gatherings, though Chris and I greatly appreciate your effort to include him.”

Footsteps thundered above them on the second floor as the rest of the youngest generation heard his voice. Calvin’s deep baritone stopped them before they reached the stairs. Peter could almost see them hovering at the top, wanting to listen, but knowing better than to press. 

“That’s what we told her,” Cora grumbled, sinking to the floor next to Isaac and pointing to where he should aim his next shot.

Derek scowled at her and pulled the board closer to his chest, blocking her view.

“You haven’t met him, Cora,” Laura snapped.

“I have though.” Isaac turned to face her.

“So have I! Briefly. What if being around a pack for a night is what he needs to make him feel welcome?” Laura asked, ignoring Isaac. “Erica went to a gathering within her first month with you.”

“She got into a fight with me.” Derek glared at her. “Over a frisbee.”

“She had the frisbee first, you shouldn’t have taken it.”

“He’s not like Erica,” Peter cut in. “He’s more like how Isaac was.”

Laura pressed her lips together, her tone softened. “Social interaction is a good thing.”

“It _can_ be a good thing,” Peter agreed. “But just because you’re a social butterfly doesn’t mean everyone else it.”

Laura huffed, gaze falling in submission, then she lifted her head. “Small pack gathering?”

“ _Laura_!” Cora snapped, flipping around so she was twisted, facing her sister. “Drop it.”

Laura growled, her eyes flashed. 

“I understand wanting to welcome him into the pack,” Peter said, stepping between them. Gods it felt like when they were little and he was refereeing--or babysitting, according to Talia. “Why do you have your heart so set on this?”

Laura's jaw tensed and she slowly shook her head, shoulders rising and falling in a helpless shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I want to see him again, but that sounds _weird_. I swear since I found him trying to leave, all I’ve wanted to do was wrap him in bubble wrap to keep him safe.”

Isaac gave a choked noise and looked down at the carpet. 

Cora bumped affectionately against him and Peter noticed his claws digging into the off white fiber. 

“He’s different,” Laura said. “That’s all I’ve got. Instead of planting my ass on your couch, I’ve been inviting him to events I like to host. I guess it’s not really a compromise though.”

“I appreciate the thought, but, again, it’s too soon.” Peter thought back to the store and the claws in Stiles’ arm. He heard him say it was the action itself of them breaking skin that scared him but he didn’t want to test that statement. 

Laura winced. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

Cora grabbed Isaac’s clawed hand and held it in her lap, waiting for him to relax. 

“What’s wrong, Isaac?” Peter asked gently. 

Isaac shook his head quickly. “Nothing.”

Peter didn’t need to hear the blip in his heartbeat to know it was a lie. “Are you sure it’s nothing?”

If Isaac insisted, Peter wouldn’t push. They were all entitled to their own thoughts.

“He looks like Mischief,” Isaac said softly.

“Isaac,” Laura sighed, eyes softening with sympathy. “We’ve been through this, Mischief’s dead.”

Isaac growled warningly, eyes flashing gold. 

“Laura, stop,” Cora cautioned, holding Isaac’s hand tighter.

“We have though!” Laura gestured toward the front door. “Do you remember the pizza guy? We called him back _twice_.”

Isaac jumped to his feet, tearing his hand out of Cora’s and bolting toward the back door, nearly running through it before he managed to get it open. 

“Way to go,” Cora muttered, running after him.

Laura turned to Peter for help, pleading for him to understand. “Every _year_ there’s a Mischief sighting.”

“I’ll be back, I’m going to go talk to them.” Peter crossed the room, following the scent path of Cora and Isaac. 

There was truth in Laura’s words, though there was a better way of saying it. Each year, at least once, Issac came up with some version of events where he saw his old friend. The pizza guy, in the distance, behind a news reporter on TV, unlocking the freezer. 

Peter breathed in the outside air. Despite the eventful day, it was hardly mid afternoon and the sun was quickly warming his skin as he ducked betwee the trees.

Running the paths was instinctual, he’d grown up on the preserve afterall. Some of the trails had even been made by him and Talia when they were kids as they frequented certain spots more than others. 

He tracked their scents to the creek and knew immediately where Isaac was headed. He jumped from one large rock to the other, crossing the stone path with ease. The cabin they were headed toward hadn’t been used since John left, it had once been his and Claudia’s, and Mischiefs. 

A couple of the Hales alternated taking care of the house to make sure it was still in working order, but aside from that, it was left alone.

When the cabin came into view, Peter saw Isaac sitting on the three steps that led to the front door, head in his hands. 

Cora sat next to him, an arm slung around his shoulders comfortingly. 

It was a simple cabin, with a small porch. There had once been a huge garden off to the side of it, along with a picnic bench and several blueberry trees. 

He paused, slowing down near the treeline, Cora’s and Isaac’s voices carried over to him even from this distance. 

“This is why I didn’t say anything the first time,” Isaac sniffed. “I _knew_ they wouldn’t believe me.”

Cora rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, scenting him and trying to calm him in the same gesture. Her gaze landed on Peter and she sighed.

Peter glanced around the small clearing the house was set in, what was left of the garden was overgrown, grass taking up the dirt where vegetables once grew. He tilted his head to the side, taking in a perimeter of orange and yellow flowers, most of which were just starting to bloom, and tall, overgrown stems of garlic.

Cora looked at him questioningly when he didn’t immediately step toward them. She lifted her head, following his gaze to the garden, then she smiled sadly. “John’s probably going to fix it when he comes back.”

Isaac also turned, trying to see what she was talking about. “Claudia loved the garden.”

Cora nodded, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“What kind of flowers are those around it?”

“Marigolds. John swore between those and garlic, pests wouldn’t go near the vegetables.” Isaac smiled, lips twitching sadly.

Peter stopped breathing. Mischief, whom he’d never met in person. Who could pick locks according to every member of the Hale pack. Who Isaac swore let him out of the freezer. Whose body was never found. Grew up with a garden surrounded by Marigolds and garlic. It was such an odd combination that he couldn’t help but wonder. “Are there any pictures of him still in the cabin?”

He turned to Cora.

She shrugged. “John took most of them, but there _might_ be a few?” She looked at the door behind them. “Why?”

Because Stiles could pick locks. Because he knew about Marigolds and garlic. Because Isaac was the only person who had a _hint_ as to who he was. And Peter was going to be _damned_ if he overlooked an answer right in front of his face.

He grabbed the fake rock that held the spare key, stepping around Cora and Isaac to get to the door. His heart pounded in anticipation. It could be a coincidence. It could be nothing. He unlocked the door, pushing it open. But it could be the answer they’ve been searching for.

“Uncle Peter?” Cora asked, standing with Isaac and hesitantly following him inside. 

Inside was musty and a thick layer of dust coated almost every surface. He glanced along the kitchen that ran along the left wall, then to the living room on the right. Sheets covered the furniture and the chairs in the dining room were flipped upside down on the small table. 

At the far end of the room was a hallway that lead to the bathrooms, bedrooms, and back door. It was just before the hallway that he saw the desk with the oversized hutch. He opened the cabinet on the hutch. 

Laying face down was a picture frame. He picked it up. Even in the darkness he could see the picture.

He brushed his fingers across the glass, clearing away the dust. 

John and Claudia smiled back at him. A young Stiles beamed from between them, showing off his missing front teeth.

It was no wonder they hadn’t found Stiles in the missing pups reports. He was human.

“Do _not_ tell anyone,” Peter growled, realizing Cora and Isaac were standing right behind him.

“Is it really him?” Cora demanded, taking the picture frame out of his hands and squinting at it herself. Not that it mattered, she hadn’t met him as Stiles.

Isaac blinked at the picture in her hands, his heart stuttering as he tried to grasp the situation. “He’s actually alive?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Peter repeated.

Cora handed him the picture back and he pulled out his phone, taking a quick picture of it before he placed it back in the hutch where he’d found it. “Whoever hurt him is still out there, and it’s his secret to tell.”

“You mean the Blackburns?” Cora asked quickly, she looked at Isaac, then back at Peter. “If he testifies in Isaac’s case we can put them behind bars. He’s the missing piece!” 

“I won’t ask him to.” Peter shook his head. The way Stiles reacted to wolves he didn’t know, asking him to go in front of the council where at least one of the members was potentially one of his abusers was not a good idea. 

“What?” Cora gasped.

He ran a hand over his face. If they exposed they knew Stiles was human, they risked him running. His memories were altered, and it was probable he didn’t remember Cora, Isaac, or any of the younger generation. They needed to be patient a little while longer. “The moment he talks to Chris or I, I will start prosecuting his captors, which I think it’s safe to assume are the Blackburns. But it’s not a good idea to push him right now.”

Isaac shrugged. “Whatever’s good for him, you know? I don’t mind waiting, the land isn’t that important. It’s just a status thing.”

Cora looped her arm through Isaacs. “We won’t say anything, but as soon as this comes to light, I will never let Laura live this down. She _met_ Stiles when he ran and didn’t recognize him. Then she had the gall to tell Isaac he was wrong.”

“To be fair,” Peter cut in, “it was dark and rainy and Stiles was covered in mud.”

Cora shook her head. “Never live it down.”

Peter’s mind whirled a thousand miles an hour the whole drive home. He needed to talk to Chris, to tell him what he’d realized. 

He pulled into the garage.

Stiles laughed at something Chris said and warmth filled him. 

There was no doubt Stiles had been hurt, emotionally, physically, and mentally, but the fact that he was laughing now made Peter so happy. While Stiles the wolf felt strange in his mind, Stiles the human made sense, and everything seemed to fall into place.

He glanced at the yard, still lit by sunlight as the garage door closed. There was still enough time to plant the seeds. 

Chris was sitting in the armchair and Stiles was standing by the backdoor, looking outside when Peter came through the laundry room. They both looked over at his entry. 

The room still smelled like fear and adrenaline, but Stiles smiled at him.

“Is it Chris’ turn to leave?” he asked, propping his hands on his hips. “You both have been alternating leaving for a while now.”

“I thought it was time to start planting?” Peter shrugged. “I suppose we could do it another day.”

Stiles threw his hands into the air. “Finally.”

Peter chuckled, pulling Stiles’ wallet from his pants pocket where he’d shoved it when he got out of the car. “Catch.”

Stiles looked over in confusion, and Peter lightly tossed the wallet at him. He fumbled as it bounced off the tips of his fingers, but finally his grip tightened around it and his eyes widened in surprise. “How?” He looked from the wallet, back up to Peter, then down again as he opened it, inspecting the contents. “You didn’t take anything.”

“It’s yours.” Peter set his keys on the counter by Chris’. “You earned it.”

“Illegally.” Stiles raised his brow.

“You still earned it. Though if you’re going to go into larsenry there are better things to steal then pocket change.”

Stiles gaped, thumb running along the seams of the material. “You should not be encouraging this. Is that really all you have to say?”

“If your fake ID looked legit, I might have asked you not to carry it,” Peter conceded. “But anyone who falls for _that_ probably shouldn’t be in a position where they need to card somebody anyways.”

Stiles laughed. The sound bubbled up from his chest and he sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “I _told_ them it was bad, but they didn’t listen to me.” He smiled at Peter, shrugging helplessly. “I tried.”

Peter walked into the kitchen to grab the egg shells.

“Really?” Chris asked, too low for Stiles to hear.

“It’s his,” Peter didn’t have to try to hide the movement of his lips since he was facing away. “He did earn it.”

“He’s going to leave.”

“Maybe not.” He turned back around with the carton, smiling proudly at his mate, trying to convey that he knew something he didn’t.

“You’re doing it again,” Stiles said, stuffing the wallet in his jeans pocket.

Peter frowned, “Doing what?”

“Talking about me while I’m in the same room.” Stiles crossed his arms, daring one of them to deny it. 

Interesting.

“And what do you think we were saying?” Peter hadn’t known Stiles knew about their quiet conversations.

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted, glancing at Chris. He started rolling the hem of his shirt between his fingers, the spike of anxiety back.

Conversation over. “How about we take everything out front to the porch to plant?” Peter suggested. “I left the soil in the garage.”

“I can get it.” Chris stood.

Stiles’ shoulders rolled forward and Peter debated on telling him what he and Chris had said. It wasn’t _bad_. “Chris is worried that now that you have your wallet back you’ll try to leave.”

Chris walked into the laundry room door with a thud, turning to stare at him.

Stiles shrugged. “I have three more months here.” He didn’t sound joking, and the flash of sadness across his face indicated he no longer wanted to leave. That was half a step in the right direction.

They set up on the porch. Stiles took the swing next to Chris, Peter sat on the top step, making sure the bag of dirt didn’t topple over. 

He worked on filling egg shells with dirt, and passed them to Stiles, who alternated planting the types of seeds he got. Chris held the egg carton, taking the shells once Stiles deemed them done. 

Stiles beamed, talking about the different types of vegetables he’d gotten as he finished each egg, letting Chris tuck them away safely.

“The window downstairs by the back door would be best to leave them in, I think.” Stiles said, concentrating as he sprinkled miniscule carrot seeds into the dirt. “It’s a south facing window, so with it still being closer to winter then summer, the sun comes through there the longest.”

“That’s a good idea,” Chris said.

Peter nodded. Sitting outside with them in the dying sunlight was calm and domestic. Listening to Stiles chatter excitedly about the fruit trees and berry bushes the store sold made him smile. 

“I wasn’t sure if I should grab any because we have the orchard, but the tree saplings were so cute.” He handed another finished egg to Chris. “I mean, the big ones in the orchard are pretty in an elegant kind of way, but the saplings are still in their awkward stage with their long trunks and short branches, which is adorable.”

Peter chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a tree referred to as adorable.”

“Or awkward.” Chris smiled, taking the egg Stiles was handing him. 

“Have you ever looked closely at saplings, though?” Stiles lifted an eyebrow in a manner so similar to him and Chris, Peter guessed he’d been practicing the movement.

“I don’t believe I have.”

Stiles shook his head. “That’s your loss.”

Chris couched into his shoulder, waves of amusement washing off of him.

Peter glared and the “coughs” turned into laughter. Stiles gave him a crooked smile, and the laughter got louder.

After dinner Stiles bid both of them goodnight, holding up the sleeping medicine.

“Goodnight,” Peter said.

Chris was upstairs, and he heard him tell Stiles the same as he went to his room. 

Peter listened as Chris looped around the stair banister and came down the steps. When he stepped off into the living room, he was frowning.

“Now that he has his wallet I think he’s going to leave.” 

“He doesn’t want to go,” Peter said. “You heard him earlier, and I’m sure you smelled the grief at the idea. He’s so much happier now then he was when he arrived.”

Chris huffed disbelievingly, coming up to wrap his arms around Peter’s waist. 

Peter glanced at the stairs, listening as Stiles crawled into bed. He hadn’t heard the door shut, but he was too far away to hear them. “I know who Stiles is--was.”

Chris’s head shot up. “What?” He let go, stepping back to face Peter. “Who?”

“Mischief. Isaac --”

“No, Peter,” Chris ran his hands over his face, tired. “Isaac always thinks he sees Mischief. We’ve been through this. Remember the pizza guy?”

Peter pulled his phone, opening the photos to show Chris the picture of the Stilinskis. 

Chris leaned toward the phone, zooming in on the child in the picture. “What the fuck?”

“Isaac and Cora know, but I made them swear to silence.” Peter watched Chris’ face cycle through several emotions in rapid succession. 

“It _was_ the Blackburns who hurt him, then?” Chris gripped the phone, taking it from Peter’s hand. 

He rolled his eyes, it was the same thing Cora had done with the picture frame. 

“That’s how he let Isaac out of the freezer, he was with them when they killed Alpha Lahey.”

“And why Laura’s been hell bent on inviting him to pack gatherings.”

“Instinct to protect him.” Chris shook his head, mouth working to catch up with his train of thought. “How did you find out?”

“There are garlic and Marigolds around John’s old garden.”

“At the diner…” Chris threw Peter’s phone at his chest, reaching for his own in his pocket. “We have to tell John.”

Peter grabbed his wrists, holding them gently until Chris looked up at him, their faces inches apart. “We need to wait for Stiles to tell us. He’s still scared. He thinks we don’t know. If he knows we know he’s human, he might actually run. Besides, if we call John, he’ll want to talk to him.”

“So we explain the situation,” Chris argued. “He’s a reasonable man.”

“Then we’re basically torturing him, saying his son is alright, but no he can’t talk or see him yet. And now he has a target on his back, because the Blackburns are most definitely after Stiles, and John will be vulnerable until he’s back with us. The move will leave him briefly unprotected by both packs. If the Blackburns want to hurt Stiles the most, they’ll go after John.”

“John’s going to be pissed if he finds out we didn’t tell him until he gets back.”

“But he’ll be somewhere we can make sure he’s safe.” Peter placed his hands on Chris’ shoulders, holding him at arm's length.

“And if Stiles decides to leave?”

“He won’t. He’s happy here.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! :) Thank you once again for all the Kudos and comments <3 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the update :D

Chris shuffled into the kitchen before the sun rose.

Stiles was snoring deeply and Peter had grumbled something about it being “too damn early”, and rolled over when he got out of bed. 

He started the pot of coffee, blindly reaching into the cabinet for one of the wolfsbane teabags. Thoughts of Stiles kept him awake most of the night. Just as he would start to drift off to sleep, a thought would arise, causing him to wake as he contemplated it. 

In the end he decided, John deserved to know, even if Peter did have a point about John being safer once he was here. It was just a matter of when to tell him. Peter’s answer would be after he was here. While Chris wanted to tell him now. 

He dropped the teabag into the empty mug, listening to the coffee pot gurgle and hiss, preparing to brew. 

The fresh smell of coffee filled the kitchen as the dripping turned into a trickle. 

Peter would get up once he could smell it and maybe they could talk more about the situation, not that Chris thought he could change Peter’s mind but it wasn’t _right_. Mischief was John’s son. 

A ripple rolled through his muscles. 

He glanced at the callendar on the fridge. Tomorrow was the full moon, not that the moon made much of a difference to him or Peter, usually the effect was stronger with the younger pups. If anything, it gave him energy, but directing that energy at a pack event, physically. Or focusing on Stiles, mentally, it didn’t matter.

The coffee pot beeped and he poured it into his mug, watching the teabag bob and float, swirling around as it bounced off the sides of the mug. 

Stiles’ bed creaked, and the gentle shuffling of feet signaled his descent down the stairs. 

Chris carried his coffee to the living room, smiling at Stiles as he stepped off the bottom step. “Good morning.” He was mildly surprised, usually Peter got up before either of them. 

Stiles’ eyes were still half shut, and a thick red line cut across his cheek where the pillow had pressed into his skin. “Good morning.” He followed Chris to the couch, sitting next to him as soon as Chris picked a spot.

“Sleep well?” Chris asked, resting his arm along the back of the couch. Not touching but still there. 

Stiles rested his head on his arm. “No dreams.” His eyes slid shut. “Still tired.” 

“Why not go back to bed?” Chris sipped his coffee. It was still early. “Peter’s even still sleeping.”

Stiles shook his head, opening his eyes. He stared blankly at the carton of egg shells on the windowsill. 

“Want some coffee?” If he was determined to get up for the day a little caffeine boost never hurt anybody. 

He glanced at the cup in Chris’ hands. “No thanks. Too bitter.”

Chris pressed his lips together. He and Peter didn’t have creamer in the house, they both preferred their coffee black, but he could get some the next time they went to the store. 

Stiles’ eyes closed again and he forced them open. He was fighting off the remaining effects of the sleep medicine, Chris realized. Mentally he was ready for the day, physically he was being dragged down. 

“There’s a nice coffee shop that has some variety if you want to go there instead?” Chris suggested. “Erica works there,” he smiled. “She’s all about the creamer with half a shot of espresso.” 

The Grind was on the edge of town and while it was popular during business hours, he and Peter had access to it almost twenty four hours a day. Peter’s mom owned it and welcomed any of the immediate pack in, especially ones she didn’t get to see often. Mainly Peter. Though Chris swore it was only so she could give her son grief. 

Stiles smiled, humming something that could have been an affirmative. 

“And maybe,” he suggested, “take half a pill of the sleep aid tonight?”

The smile turned into a chuckle. “I think I figured that out.” He rubbed his face with his hands, stifling a yawn. “The coffee shop sounds nice.” He tipped over off the couch, barely managing to catch himself before getting his footing. 

Chris’ hands shot out to steady him, but there wasn’t any need as he righted himself and stood. 

Stiles went back upstairs. “I’ll get dressed.”

Chris wasn’t far behind him. As much as he didn’t think Erica or Thea would mind him showing up in sleep shorts and a t shirt he wasn’t about to test the theory. 

He eased open the bedroom door. 

Peter grunted, lifting an arm to block the light.

Chris shut the door, stepping over to the dresser to grab some clothes. “We’re going to The Grind if you want to go.”

Peter watched him from beneath his forearm. “Stiles wants to go out?”

“He said so.”

“Erica and mom will be there.” Peter let his arm fall back to the bed. “But I suppose we could go in before they open and leave before the crowd arrives.”

“That’s what I was thinking, too.”

“She might recognize Stiles. She knew John and Claudia fairly well.” Peter sat up, the sheet fell off from around him.

“Can you text her and ask her not to say anything?” Chris pulled a shirt on and reached out for a pair of jeans. 

“Yes.” 

“She won’t tell Talia?” Chris paused, he hadn’t thought about Thea confiding in her daughter and Pack Alpha. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Please, if there’s one person who can keep secrets from Talia, it’s her. She’s more stubborn than both of us. Combined.”

Chris chuckled. “Just making sure.” He watched as Peter stood, making his way to the closet. “I assume you’re coming too?”

“I am now that I’m awake.”

They climbed into Chris’ car. 

Stiles rested his head against the window. The cool morning air had seemed to perk him up some but he slumped as soon as he was settled in the backseat. 

Chris glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

Mischief was twelve when he’d gone missing. Two years later, when he should have been fourteen, Isaac had been found. They’d been close to the same age. Isaac had been with him and Peter for four years, making Stiles just over eighteen. 

Chris didn’t know when his birthday was, but he smiled. Peter’s guess had been the closest to his actual age. 

Peter placed his hand on Chris’ leg until they pulled up to the small shop, the oversized coffee mug on the roof had become kind of an iconic landmark in Beacon Hills. 

There weren’t any other cars in the lot except Erica’s, but the sound of two separate voices could be heard inside. 

Stiles sat up, frowning at the sign on the door. “They’re closed.”

“Only to the public.” Peter stepped out of the car, eyeing Erica’s blue Prius.

“What’s that mean?” Stiles got out after him.

“Peter’s mom owns it,” Chris explained, following them to the door. “She opened it after she retired.”

“Isn’t the point of retirement to not have to work?” Stiles asked, stumbling up the curb to the sidewalk.

“Yes, but she says she got bored. Between being on the Council and family, she wanted another hobby.”

“Isn’t being on the Council a big deal?” Stiles asked, frowning. 

Peter smiled. “That it is. And it’s a lot of diplomatic issues and trials, and a bunch of other things.”

“And she’s here now?”

“Since Isaac is part of the Hale pack, she can’t vote on his trial,” Chris explained. 

Stiles nodded, shivering. “That makes sense.”

The morning cold still had a nip to it and Stiles tugged his jacket tighter around himself as Peter rapped his knuckles against the glass door. 

Stiles peered through the window inside.

From where Chris stood next to him, he could see the tables had been pushed against the walls so the floor could be cleaned, and the chairs were flipped upside down on top of them, also out of the way. Directly across from the door was a large case housing muffins and pastries, all of which Chris knew to be hand baked every morning.

Even outside he could smell them cooking.

He heard Erica muttering before he saw her round the corner. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a tight bun, the glare fell from her face when she saw them and she hurried over, unlocking the door to let them in.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, giving Chris a quick hug as he stepped into the warm shop.

She gave Stiles a brief nod in greeting and stepped around him to hug Peter.

“I texted mother, I guess she didn’t warn you?” Peter tilted his head.

“Nope.” Erica shot a quick glare toward the back.

“We thought we’d get some coffee before the morning rush starts.”

Erica glanced at Stiles, a knowing look crossing her face before she turned back to Chris, placing her hands on her hips. “I thought you _were_ the morning rush. I was about to tell you to read the hours sign.”

“Your five star customer service skills amaze me every time.” Peter grinned. “Thea herself must have trained you.”

“Damn straight I did!” An aging woman with silver streaked hair stepped out from the back. Her dark eyes gleamed mischievously as she leaned against the pastry counter. “I offered you a position, Peter Hale, but you turned it down for something ‘ _fancy_ ’. Had to go be the center of attention in the courtroom. It suits you, though. You were always able to talk yourself out of trouble, now you get paid to talk others out of it.”

Chris chuckled. Despite her words, Thea was eternally proud of Peter. He’d heard the eldest Hale bragging about him to others at pack gatherings. He assumed it was her position on the council that made her this way. Whatever Peter did tended to reflect on her, and vice versa. It was a dangerous dance of politics that he preferred to stay out of.

Peter held his hands up in mock surrender and her sharp gaze cut from him to Stiles and her expression softened. “You must be Stiles.”

He lifted his hand in a small wave. “Hello.”

“What can I make for you, darling?” 

Peter huffed in amusement and Erica smiled. “Adopted already.”

Stiles turned to Chris for help, but before Chris could say anything Stiles asked, “Something sweet?”

“Warm or iced?” Thea asked, quickly realizing that Stiles didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted. 

“Iced?” He looked down, grabbing his left wrist, running his thumb over something Chris couldn't see, but he assumed it was the bracelet. 

Chris winced. Stiles didn’t like wearing the bracelet when he was with them, but after yesterday he probably felt more comfortable with it on. It was good he was wearing it, but it was only because of an unfortunate occurrence. Which frankly sucked. 

“You got it.” Thea turned to Peter, “And you?”

“Black coffee, please.”

“Barbarion.” She glanced at Chris, “And for you?”

“I drank some at home, thank you though.” Chris smiled.

“Traitor.” She grabbed two cups from behind the counter, pressing some buttons on a big stainless steel coffee and espresso maker. “Peter, do you want wolfsbane?”

Peter lifted his head, “Yes.” 

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat and he spun the bracelet faster. “I can’t…”

“I know.” Thea cut in quickly, dumping the espresso shot into the clear cold cup. “This isn’t my first rodeo, regular coffee for you.”

“Thank you,” he looked down again.

Erica guided them to a table for four and sat down between Chris and Peter, across from Stiles. “What do you think of Beacon Hills so far?” She asked, folding her hands on the table.

It took Chris a second to realize Erica didn’t know Mischief. A rush of thankfulness ran through him. They’d have to be careful who he met if they were trying to keep his identity hidden. 

Erica been with him and Peter before Isaac, her time with them briefly overlapped his before she moved out, but she’d never met the humans on Hale property. During her early stay with them she’d been too violent to be around humans, and after she’d grounded herself, Mischief was gone. 

“It’s alright.” Stiles shrugged. “Haven’t gone out much.”

“Totally understandable,” Erica sat back in her seat. “The good places are crowded and most people are rude.”

Stiles laughed, the tension releasing from his shoulders. That was something they could bond over, Chris realized. Erica disliked people almost as much as Stiles did. 

Chris stood to get the drinks when Thea said they were ready. His fingers brushed hers when he picked them up and their gazes met. 

He listened to the cheerful conversation behind him but he was more focused on Thea than everyone at the table. 

She glanced pointedly at Stiles and Chris was suddenly extremely thankful that Peter asked her to remain silent. She recognized him.

Too bad they hadn’t come here for lunch instead of the diner after Stiles’ arrival, the answer to the mystery would have been solved sooner. 

Erica growled behind him. “She _what_?”

Chris turned in time to see Stiles showing her the bandage on his arm. Her eyes were a solid gold. 

“I’ll claw her arm, see how she likes it. What a _bitch_.”

“Do not assault an officer, please.” Peter pinched the bridge of his noces, but he was smiling. 

“Why not? She assaulted him first!” Erica getsured at Stiles’ arm as he tugged his sleeve back down. 

“Who?” Thea asked with a frown, noticing the bandages before Stiles could cover them again.

Chris carried the drinks to the table, setting Stiles’ in front of him. 

Stiles eyed the heap of whip cream and swirls of caramel, eagerly grabbing the cup. 

“Tara, the newest officer at the station,” Chris said. He’d called and spoke to Jordan about her yesterday after Peter had left to get Stiles’ wallet. Jordan had said he’d look into what happened as soon as he was released, which, with any luck, would be today.

“Who’s pack is she from?” Thea demanded.

Chris paused. “I don’t know.” It wasn’t like he made it a point to ask what pack people came from. Most of the time that was considered rude, though if it was brought up in everyday conversation it wasn’t typically hidden.

Thea hummed. “I’m curious to find out.”

“Why?” Erica jumped in. She hid her hands in her lap before Stiles could see the claws that had descended. 

Thea ran a towel over the counter where she’d made the drinks, watching them over the pastry case. “Because I’ve only ever heard of her referred to as Tara, and only famous people go by their first names. Since I doubt she’s famous, I want to know what her pack name is.” She shrugged, “Consider me nosey.”

Erica snorted and Stiles took a hesitant sip of his drink, eyes lighting up in excitement at the taste. 

“This is amazing!” He said, holding it out for Erica to try.

Erica shook her head. “No thanks, I prefer warm drinks, but most of what Thea makes is great.”

“ _Most_?” Thea demanded.

Peter chuckled into his coffee. 

Thea had a point, Chris thought. Most officers went by their last names unless they were familiar with the person they were speaking to.

He cast a quick glance at Peter, information on Tara shouldn’t be hard to gather. That’d be the next thing they’d looked into.

They left The Grind as Thea flipped the ‘closed’ sign to ‘open’.

Stiles held what was left of the coffee in his hands, waving bye to Erica and Thea. He and Erica had gotten along surprisingly well, Chris considered as they made their way back to the car. They’d talked about coffee flavors and when to go to the store to avoid people, it was rather amusing to hear them talk about ways to avoid strangers. The irony of Erica having to work with them made Chris smile, despite her complaints she put on a good customer service smile and didn’t maim anyone. She swore someday she’d find a solitary career. 

“Do you want to go on a hike when we get home?” Peter asked as they got into the car. “It’s supposed to be nice today.”

“Where are you thinking of hiking to?” Stiles asked, leg bouncing. The caffeine must have kicked in.

“Maybe the clearing, we can bring books and snacks, make a picnic of it,” Peter suggested. “Or we can go back to the orchard.”

“The clearing sounds nice,” Stiles smiled. “Is it big?”

“Huge,” Chris nodded, pulling out of the lot. “Pack events are usually held there because of its size and openness.”

Stiles gave a sound of approval, settling in to finish his drink before they made it home. 

They got home and Stiles ran upstairs to grab his book.

The sun was well into the sky by the time Peter packed sandwiches. Chris grabbed some apples and oranges, setting them in the basket Peter had placed the sandwiches in. Peter placed his book on top of the food, safely away from anything that might get on the cover or pages. And offered it out for Stiles to place his book in. 

They grabbed an oversized blanket from the laundry room and headed out the back door, squinting against the bright sunlight.

Sitles lifted a hand, shielding his eyes. It’d be better once they were in the trees where the branches would shade them.

Peter led the way and Chris held the basket. Stiles stayed half a step behind him. He stumbled over an exposed root, but righted himself before he could fall. 

As they walked, Chris let his mind wander. He couldn’t help but wonder how much Stiles could remember. Did he remember the Hales at all? Or the trails through the woods? He certainly liked spending time outside on them.

He bit his tongue, refraining from asking the questions that would lead Stiles on to the fact that they knew who he was. 

A gentle breeze rustled the branches and Stiles pointed out flowers budding from some of the trees. 

Everytime he pointed, something out, his sleeve would rise, and Chris would notice the red bracelet. The guilt worsened. 

Technically, as a human, he didn’t need to wear it at all, since humans were almost constantly being watched by some member of the pack. But Peter had been with him at the store and an accident still happened. Not that Tara could have known that he was human. It was still unsettling. 

The bracelet, Chris noticed a second later, was pulled tighter then how Stiles usually wore it. He cringed, looking around the trails as they walked. He shouldn’t have gotten hurt. 

The clearing came into view a short while later. It was easily the size of a couple football fields. The trees flared out in a wide circle until they reunited on the far side, giving plenty of space to run. 

“Wow,” Stiles breathed, staring at the sheer space of it.

The grass was tall, but not tall enough to trip them, and dead center stood the nemeton. The tree was large and radiated power. The beacon of Beacon Hills.

They crossed the clearing to the large tree, and Peter spread out the blanket so it was half in the shade, half in the sun incase one of them got cold.

Chris set the picnic basket in the middle and sat down, pulling the books out first. He handed Stiles his, and Peter the other, he hadn’t brought a book for himself. He was content listening to the birds and the wind. 

Stiles laid on his stomach across the blanket in the sun, Peter sat next to him, on the other side of the blanket than Chris. 

Birds chirped in the distance and a rabbit bolted across the far end of the clearing. Chris shoved down his instinctive _chase_ reaction, and Stiles raised his head at the burst of movement. 

A wide grin spread across his face when he saw the brown creature. “Did you see that?” He turned excitedly to Peter. 

Peter smiled, opening his book. “Yes.”

Stiles twisted to see Chris. “Did you?”

“I saw it,” Chris grinned, nodding.

Stiles flopped back down but his eyes scanned the edge of the clearing where the trees began. “Are there any other animals around?”

Chris cocked his head to the side, listening.

Peter did almost the same reaction next to him. “There’s a deer, but it’s a ways away.”

Chris frowned, he couldn’t hear the deer. The birds were the loudest, but he could hear the minor rustle if squirrels. “Lots of birds, too. And squirrels.”

Stiles stretched. “That’s awesome. I wish I could hear them like you do.”

“Some day,” Chris said. It was a lie, but he had to play along with Stiles still being an Omega. As a human his senses would never be even close to those of a wolf.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed wistfully. He rolled onto his back, gazing up at the scattered clouds, resting his hands beneath his head. 

Chris watched the rise and fall of his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. It was more steady recently, with less bursts from anxiety. 

“The full moon’s tomorrow,” Stiles commented, then fell silent.

When he didn’t continue with the thought, Chris prompted, “Planning on doing something?”

Stiles turned his head to watch him. Light scattered through the branches above, leaving speckled patterns on his face. “You really don’t do anything for the moon?”

“Pack gatherings are fun, but exhausting.” Peter stretched his legs out in front of him, book open on his lap.

“Staying in is nice sometimes,” Chris shrugged, trying to gauge where the conversation was going. “Sometimes we get restless, but it’s nothing unmanageable.” Actually, since Stiles had been with them, the pull of the moon had weakened to a minor itch. He wondered if it was because he was human. He made a mental note to look into how having a human around actually affects a pack. He knew the basics, but there had to be more information somewhere. 

“Sometimes I get restless, too.” Stiles admitted. 

“Do you want to do something?” Peter asked, picking up on what Stiles was dancing around asking. 

Stiles shook his head, but _want_ surged in his scent, a hopeful anticipation that was being smothered by nerves.

“Are you sure?” Chris asked. “We’re open to suggestions.” He smiled. It was his and Peter’s unspoken rule to ask twice. If the person they were speaking to insisted, they’d drop it, as long as it wasn’t anything dangerous or life threatening.

“Can we order pizza?” Stiles asked, pushing himself up so he was sitting.

“That sounds nice,” Peter agreed. “There’s a pizza place that the pups love, they say the stuffed crust is amazing. Maybe we can try that place?”

A slow smile spread across Stiles’ face. “That’d be nice.” He rubbed his hands against his thighs, chewing on his bottom lip, gearing up to ask something else. “Can Erica come over, and Isaac?”

Chris’ brow rose in surprise, but he was already nodding. “We can ask them, if they don’t have plans already I’m sure they’d love to come over.”

“They seem nice,” Stiles said softly.

“They are.”

“Thank you.” Stiles laid back down, resting his head on Chris’ leg so he could start reading.

“No problem at all,” Chris smiled. 

Peter opened the basket and pulled out a sandwich offering it to Stiles. He took it with thanks and Peter held another out to Chris, smiling. 

Chris texted Isaac and Erica when they got back to the house. Isaac replied almost immediately saying he’d bring some games and would love to spend the full moon with them. 

Erica replied a little while later saying she’d also be there. 

Chris smiled, it would be like a mini pack night. He couldn’t help but wonder if Stiles being around would anchor Isaac and Erica so they wouldn't shift as much. It didn’t matter too much, since he and Peter would be there if they got too rambunctious, but he doubted they would, especially since Isaac knew who Stiles was. 

He stepped into the living room where Stiles was sitting next to Peter, leaning over to read the book he held. 

Peter had started the book last night, Chris knew because he’d finished the first one in the series and started grumbling about stagnant characters. Now, though, he was halfway through the sequel, and Stiles was silently reading along with him. 

“Have you read that series?” Chris asked, sitting on Stiles’ other side.

He shook his head. “No.”

“You’re just jumping in in the middle of the second book?”

Stiles shrugged, not looking away from the page. “I’ve figured out what’s going on, I think. I’m not too lost.”

Peter thumbed the bottom corner of the page, waiting for Stiles to finish before turning it.

Chris smiled at them. For all the hell Stiles had been through, he was sweet. 

Chris was going to kill Kali if Peter couldn’t find evidence against her. Or if Stiles never opened up to them. The question that troubled him was if Deucalion was involved, and if he was, Chris was going to kill him, too. Or maybe he would anyway for good measure, he hadn’t decided yet.

He shoved the protective instinct to the back of his mind. 

Stiles reached over, taking his hand in his own. “You’re thinking too much.”

Peter tilted his head back as he laughed.

Chris scowled at him.

Stiles’ skin felt cool against his own and he could feel the pulse of his heart in time with the steady beating. Warm feelings wiggled in him and he balked, eyes widening. 

Peter looked over Stiles’ head at him, brows drawn in confusion.

Chris shook his head. Not here. He shut his eyes as he recognized the gentle tug of _feelings_. He needed to talk to Peter later. He’d never developed any kind of personal feelings for any of the other Omegas he’d helped. 

Confusion wormed inside him, but he made himself sit still, holding Stiles’ hand until he said he was going to shower before dinner and slipped off upstairs. 

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, putting an arm around Chris’ shoulders and pulling him close. 

Chris listened to the bathroom door shut, and the sound of the shower. He curled into his mate, taking a couple deep breaths of his familiar scent. “Complicated emotions.”

“I can tell.” Peter pressed his lips into his temple. “Want to talk about it?”

Chris laughed dryly, running a hand over his face, digging the pads of his fingers into his eyes. “I’m starting to develop feelings for Stiles.”

Peter pulled his head back, watching him carefully. 

Chris took Peter’s hand and held it in his lap. “I feel like I shouldn’t be because of our positions. There’s a power imbalance, we’re _helping_ him. He might feel obligated to respond in kind if I even mention it, and I don’t want to do that.” He took a stuttering breath, squeezing Peter’s hand.

“Developing feelings isn’t a crime.” Peter ran his free hand along Chris’s back. “He’s had a low level crush on us for a while now.”

Chris winced, he didn’t know if that made the situation better or worse. “Do you feel anything toward him?”

Peter’s hand stilled. “When he laughs it makes me happy. The base is there for emotion to start, but I can’t say I feel it.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Is this a path you want to go down?”

They had never been a couple to stick to the societal norm of a closed relationship. In their early years they’d both had their fair share of partners. A few of those they’d shared with each other. 

“I don’t know yet,” Chris sighed. “I don’t want him to feel like he has to like us like back because he’s living with us. And I don’t have to act on these feelings at all.”

Peter nodded. “It was just a question. But if you do, let him lead. He’s over eighteen. Just like telling us about his past, let him initiate where this goes.”

“Should I even tell him?” Chris couldn’t see that going anywhere good, especially if Stiles’ crush on them ended up fizzling into nothing or he felt pressured into liking him back. Or worse, if it scared him. 

“If he asks, or wants to talk about it, don’t hide your feelings, just _talk_.” Peter kissed his forehead. 

That was easier said than done. 

“Is this something _you’d_ be willing to explore?” Chris asked, tilting his head back so their lips met in a soft kiss. 

“I’ll need to see where my feelings go first. I support you, both of you, if that’s what you both want. But I want to make sure my heart is in the right place.” Peter kissed him again, his tongue brushed against Chris’ bottom lip in an unspoken question, and Chris leaned into him.

When Stiles came downstairs his hair was still wet from the shower. He smiled when he saw them cuddled up on the couch and sat next to Chris, resting his head on his arm, kicking his legs over the arm of the couch so his feet were dangling. 

Stiles stumbled into their room sometime after midnight, his steps uncoordinated from the sleep aid. Chris could smell the medication and tang of fear as he pulled the blanket back, allowing Stiles access to the bed. 

Stiles crawled over him so he was between them and buried his face into the pillow, wiggling back until he was spooned against Chris’ chest, facing Peter.

Chris watched through cracked eyes as Peter traced his fingers lightly over Stiles’ forehead, trying to pull pain that wasn’t physically there. 

He drifted back off to sleep with the weight of Stiles’ body against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to move along!!! I thought this chapter was going to be so short, but it surprised me. Next up a fun mini pack night :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody!! Remember me saying the chapter count may change? It's going to go up. I haven't figured out if it will go up to 19 or 20 but that's the tentative mark. I'm going to bump it up to 20 to be on the safe side but we shall see.
> 
> Thank you for all the love, comments, and kudos!! I hope you enjoy the update :)

Stiles blinked awake, squished contently between two warm bodies. He couldn’t remember going into Chris and Peter’s room, but that’s definitely where he was now.

Chris’ arm was under his neck, supporting his head like a pillow. He turned into the hold, savoring the moment of happiness while his mind floated down from sleep. 

Peter mumbled something behind him and Stiles smiled, climbing over Chris as he made his way to the bathroom.

He’d been hesitant to ask if Isaac and Erica could spend the full moon with them. Chris and Peter seemed to not do anything for it, but Isaac and Erica seemed alright. 

Erica didn’t make his brain feel like it was going to explode like Isaac did, but Isaac had been nice, and doing something with them would be fun.

He brushed his teeth, ducking into his room to get dressed. 

He spotted a couple packs of cookie mix deep within one of the cabinets the other day. Cookies would be nice to snack on throughout the day, and he liked baking so he tugged his pants on and went down stairs. 

When would they get here? He wondered, swinging into the kitchen. He pressed the power button on the coffee maker. 

It whirled to life, grinding the coffee beans and spewing dark liquid into the clear pot. 

Chris or Peter usually started it first thing in the morning, this just saved them a step. 

He glanced around the kitchen, hand subconsciously coming up to grip the bracelet. Since the garden center incident he’d kept it on, tightening it to the spot Chris had originally put on him. It wasn’t like he couldn’t get it off again, it was just more of a hassle. 

He stepped toward the cabinet he’d seen the mix in, squatting down to dig through it; he pulled it out before searching out the other ingredients he’d need. 

Peter came down the stairs first. Stiles had just put the cookies in the oven and had the spoon he’d used to scoop out the batter in his mouth, licking off the excess dough. 

“Good morning,” he said, dragging the spoon out from between his lips. 

Peter came to a stop where the carpet turned into tile. “You _are_ making cookies. I thought I was still dreaming.”

Stiles smiled, placing the spoon in the sink. “They’ll be nice to snack on before the pizza comes.”

Peter nodded sleepily, making his way to the coffee maker. “We can make other finger foods, too, if you’d like. We have ingredients for meat and cheese trays. It’d be more filling than cookies.”

“If you’ve never gotten full on cookies, you haven’t eaten enough.” Stiles shrugged, reaching for the faucet to rinse out the bowl and spoon.

Peter smiled, reaching around him for a mug. His arm came close to brushing Stiles’, but it didn’t make contact before Peter pulled it away, mug in hand. “May I have some of the coffee?”

The sudden disappointment made Stiles frown. Had he _wanted_ Peter to touch him? It wouldn’t have been _bad_. He sighed softly to himself but smiled. “Of course, I made it for you guys.”

“Thank you.”

Stiles waited until after Peter poured his cup and took a drink before asking, “When will Isaac and Erica get here?” 

Sometimes Matt and Theo would arrive the morning of full moons and stay all day. Other times they came at night. And _rarely_ Deuc and Kali would go out with them somewhere. Stiles liked it when they did that the most. If he was careful not to leave his scent everywhere he could come out of his closet. 

“Erica works today, so she’ll probably come over when she gets off. Isaac will probably get a ride from Scott. We offered to pick him up but he said Scott was meeting Derek anyway and would be passing by.” Peter took another sip of his drink, watching Stiles over the rim. 

Stiles pressed his lips together, bouncing a couple times on the balls of his feet. “When does Erica get off work?” 

“Usually one, noon if it’s slow.”

Stiles glanced around the kitchen, they had plenty of time to make snacks before Erica arrived. It was Isaac that’d be the toss up. 

“You don’t have to prepare a feast if you don’t want to,” Peter said. “They’ll both be thrilled with the pizza and cookies.” He smiled, holding the mug between both of his hands. 

“I want to,” Stiles said quickly. He was mildly surprised at the honesty of the words and he shrugged. “I like cooking. I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen before.”

Peter stilled, gaze growing distant before it settled on his. “You’re more than welcome to cook whenever you want. I just don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to.”

Stiles nodded. “Thank you.”

Peter cut various slices of cheese for the cheese tray while Stiles laid out the slices of meat. He placed the last slice down, looking around for the elusive box of crackers. 

He had to dig to the very back of the cabinet to get them. He cursed when he bumped his head on the inside of the cabinet, nearly his whole torso contorted into the space to reach them.

“Are you fighting the White Witch for them?” Peter asked.

Stiles could hear the joking tone in his voice but frowned, moving a can of spinach out of his way and onto the kitchen floor. “Nope, just Popeye.”

He could almost hear Peter’s own frown when he didn’t get the joke, but the pause in cutting quickly resumed with, “Olive might be down there too then.”

Stiles smiled, grabbing the box and pulling it out without causing an avalanche. He slid out and began the task of placing everything he’d dug out back. He placed the canned spinach back, briefly glancing at the expiration date out of curiosity.

“It’s probably expired. I forgot we even had that.” Peter watched him from the corner of his eye.

The can was in fact expired, Stiles realized, surprised.

He gaped, stepping over to the trash can. “How long do you need to keep canned food for it to go bad?”

“A long time.” Peter shook his head. “We needed a couple cans for a recipe that specially called for canned spinach. A casserole, I believe. We had an extra can leftover and it got buried and forgotten.”

Stiles nodded. That was fair. He flipped the can over again to look at the picture. He could imagine the cartoon, could hear the voices, hear his dad say it was a cartoon he’d watched as a kid. He tossed the can in the garbage. Peter had said the two of the other three humans that had lived on the Hale property were dead. He shoved the feelings aside, not ready to deal with those yet. 

Chris chuckled behind them and Stiles jumped, twisting around. He hadn’t heard him approach.

“Sorry,” Chris grimaced. 

Stiles shrugged, he didn’t mean to scare him. 

“You’re going to spoil them,” Chris mused, motioning to the cookies and snack tray. 

Stiles smiled, taking the box to the counter where the tray was laid out. “Good.” 

The oven timer beeped and he grabbed an oven mitt, hurrying to get the cookies out before they burned. 

Isaac knocked on the door a short while later. Chris let him in, giving him a brief hug. Isaac rubbed his cheek against Chris’ shoulder, stepping lightly through the living room to the kitchen to greet Peter. 

The tingling in Stiles’ neck came back instantly, and he rubbed at it, trying to disperse the pain. 

“I brought games,” Isaac beamed, stepping back from Peter to see Stiles. He didn’t step forward and hug him like he did to the other two, but that was okay.

Stiles’ gaze landed on a discarded grocery bag by the laundry room door. The various colors of boxed games bled through the thin plastic bag, he could almost make out what they were.

“There’s Uno, BattleShip, Clue, some puzzle game Cora likes, I don’t know, she just told me to bring it.” Isaac shrugged. 

Stiles smiled, letting his hand drop from his neck. “That sounds fun.” And it really did, he realized. “Thank you.” He followed Isaac to the living room so they could spread the games across the coffee table.

Isaac reached close to him and he tensed, braced for the scrape of claws, but Isaac only grabbed the Uno box with human fingers and held it up for him to inspect. “I bought the regular version, but Scott has one that’s themed like super heros.”

Stiles found himself nodding, he could imagine Scott having superhero themed things. Why did that seem familiar though was the question. 

He tried to imagine what Scott looked like and his head exploded in tingles. He rolled his neck, focusing on the box.

“Okay,” Isaac shifted so he was sitting cross legged, leaning on the coffee table to face Stiles. “I have a serious question for you.” His words may have said “serious” but his eyes danced mischievously. 

“Okay?” Stiles spun the bracelet on his wrist despite the playful posture. Isaac was wearing the yellow one, he noticed.

“Have you seen the Marvel movies?”

Stiles smiled. He’d seen glimpses of a few but he didn’t know which ones. 

Chris joined them in the living room as Isaac turned on Captain Marvel, grabbing the various remotes and hooking up the tv to his laptop, which he’d also brought. 

Stiles watched in fascination. He knew Isaac had lived here before, so had Erica, so it made sense that he was comfortable maneuvering around the house, and setting things up. 

Stiles’ brain itched like it wanted to crawl from his skull. 

It hadn’t always been that way; Isaac had once been scared. Blurred images flickered just out of memory, fading before he could figure out what they were. He knew Isaac had been afraid, and he was afraid along with him. They were hiding. The music from the movie turned into footsteps walking through a quiet house. 

Stiles shoved Isaac back into the freezer, pushing the door shut but not all the way. “Stay here,” he whispered. “I’ll be back.”

Stiles shook his head, digging his nails into his palms, dragging himself back to the living room. 

Chris watched him in concern and he smiled to show he was alright. 

Whatever had happened to Isaac, Chris and Peter had helped him, and now Isaac beamed and talked about “shipping”, missing the silent struggle Stiles had just gone through.

Stiles glanced at the Battle Ship game, “Shipping?”

Isaac quickly shook his head. “Not like that! Like, relationship, like wanting two or more fictional characters to be involved with each other. Don’t worry, when Erica gets here she’ll start shipping everyone in the movies, you’ll see.”

Erica let herself into the house midway through the movie. She tossed a backpack next to the laundry room door and immediately walked over to where Chris and Peter were sitting on the couch. She bumped against Peter’s shoulder and trailed a hand along Chris’ arm he had propped up over the back of the couch. 

“Long day?” Isaac asked, tucking his legs closer to his body as she approached where he and Stiles sat by the coffee table. It wasn’t much use, she flopped down next to him, laying back across his lap. 

“You have _no_ idea.” She flopped an arm in Stiles’ direction, hand landing palm up on the carpet next to his thigh, an invitation without being pushy. 

He high fived her. It counted as scenting, right? Their hands touched. 

She laughed. “Whoever made cookies, I _love_ you.”

Stiles smiled. Pack night with them wasn’t what he was used to. But nothing with anyone here in Beacon Hills was what he’d become accustomed to. While the movie played, Isaac dealt out the Uno cards and Peter announced that the pizza would arrive in an hour. 

He had his phone on his lap and hadn’t placed a call so Stiles assumed he’d placed the order on an app. 

He fanned the cards out in his hand. Vague rules about matching numbers or colors coming back from the ether. 

Isaac flipped over a red eight from the main deck. 

The rounds went quickly with only three players, Chris and Peter cuddled up against each other, watching them play. Stiles leaned back against their legs, laying a draw four on the pile. 

“House rules,” Erica said quickly, placing another draw four on top and turning to Isaac expectantly. 

“Box rules,” Isaac pushed her card back at her. “Draw four.”

“We’re not playing in a tournament, _house_ rules.” Her eyes flashed gold.

Isaac’s lip rose, revealing fangs. “Box.”

Stiles glanced over his shoulder at Chris and Peter, technically it was their house, so their rules. 

Erica tossed her cards face down on the table, muscles tensing as she watched Isaac. 

Stiles set his own cards down, waiting for the inevitable tumble across the floor. Hopefully they wouldn’t hit the furniture and get hurt in the process. 

“Box rules,” Chris said, but he looked pointedly toward the back door. The backyard was bright from the midday sun. “Why don’t you go outside?”

Isaac followed his gaze, then turned to meet Erica’s in a challenge. “Yes.”

“Oh, it’s on, let’s go.” Erica shoved herself to her feet, tugging her shirt over her head before she reached the door. 

Stiles looked away. No wolf he’d ever met had been modest, and growing up in the same environment meant he didn't have much modesty either, but he still didn’t want to stare as someone stripped to shift. 

“You want to come?” Isaac stopped, hand resting on the back door as he leaned into the house, looking at Stiles hopefully. 

The “No thanks” was half formed on his lips but he nodded.

Isaac beamed. 

The rolls were reversed once. Stiles could feel a wooden door frame under his hand as he leaned inside an older house, calling for Isaac to come outside.

The windows were boarded up, and the door was hanging from only one of its hinges. The floor was strewn with debris, he didn’t want to risk going inside and getting cut on something. Then _he’d_ know he was there for sure.

Stiles stood, blinking the memory away. He knew this would happen when he’d asked if Isaac could come over, but he stumbled anyway as blood rushed to his head. 

Isaac held the door, waiting to close it behind him. 

“Be careful,” Chris warned.

Isaac grinned, “Always.” He slid the door shut, turning around to see where Erica had gone. 

Stiles hung back, watching them run across the yard, first on two legs, then on four. His breath caught at how big their wolf forms were. He knew wolves were big, but seeing one up close was different than hearing about it. 

Isaac tumbled head over heels as Erica landed on his back. He snapped at her shoulder, flipping them both back around.

Erica bolted before he could pin her down.

Stiles chuckled. It was like watching two overgrown puppies romping in the grass.

Isaac tugged on Erica’s tail with his teeth. She spun, paw swinging out to bat him on the nose. 

Stiles sat on the step. He’d seen wolves play like this before, but not recently.

He felt the now familiar tug of memories and settled into the step, waiting for them to surface. 

Sparks of light flickered in the corners of his vision. Not only had he seen play like this, he realized, he’d participated. 

He felt the crunch of dried grass beneath his feet. The summer air was humid, bordering on hot. Two wolves ran next to him, bumping into each other in a mash of shoulders, bodies, and teeth. Somewhere close by, a larger group of wolves ran, someday they’d run with them. But not tonight.

He stopped next to a tree, watching the two grey wolves tumble toward a creek. Large flat rocks jutted out into the water, and Stiles recognized the trail he’d tried to follow. He briefly wondered which side of the creek he was on, if it was the part he was going to explore, or the side he already had. 

Even though their fur was the same color, he knew who both of them were. It wasn’t often Isaac was able to join him and Scott on a run. He’d told them he wouldn’t be able to join this time either, and then had shown up seemingly out of nowhere. 

Scott ran into the creek, shaking water over both of them. He braced his front legs, watching Stiles intently, ready to pounce if Stiles came closer. 

Isaac hung back, slinking a few steps away into the cover of the trees. Scott made him nervous sometimes. Stiles wasn’t afraid of him, he wasn’t afraid of either of them. He surged forward, arms out wide as he tackled Scott and they both fell into the water. 

He laughed as he resurfaced, shaking his head like Scott did. He turned to look for Isaac, ready to ask him to join them, but the words caught in his chest. 

A dark shadow loomed behind Isaac through the trees. 

Scott whined, lowering his head in submission.

Isaac tensed. His tail tucked and he lowered his belly to the ground, ears pinned back as he turned to see his father coming up behind him. Isaac kept looking back over his shoulder as he was lead away. He was terrified. 

The glass door opened and Stiles jumped, head ducking instinctively.

Peter froze in the doorway, drawing the attention of Isaac and Erica. “Pizza’s here.” He didn’t move his gaze away from Stiles. 

Stiles stood and forced a smile. “Thank you.”

Peter nodded, stepping back to let him into the house. “Are you alright?”

Stiles nodded stiffly. He knew Isaac and Erica were now paying closer attention to him, realizing something was wrong. He brushed the uneasy feeling off. He was fine. 

Beacon Hills was a small town, it wasn’t a large stretch to think he’d known Isaac before. But he’d seen Isaac _shifted_ which meant he knew him before he fell into an Omega status. He’d also known Scott.

The tingling in his neck wasn’t as bad as he sat down at the coffee table to eat pizza with the rest of them. 

Erica tugged an oversized t shirt from her bag, pulling that on instead of getting completely dressed. 

Isaac slipped into a loose pair of shorts, sitting next to Stiles. 

“How long have you two been friends?” He asked, loading two slices onto his plate.

Erica lifted an eyebrow at Isaac. “Four years?”

“You’ve _known_ me for four years, I’d say friends for like two.”

Erica huffed, taking her own slices of pizza. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Stiles settled back against Chris’ legs to eat while Isaac turned on Black Panther. 

“Maybe we can go for a run after the movie?” Isaac suggested, stuffing a large bite into his mouth. He looked at Chris and Peter, then Stiles. He wanted to run with all of them.

Stiles tilted his head back so he could see Chris. “That’d be fun.”

Chris glanced down at him in surprise. “Do you want to?” His blue eyes bore into Stiles’ and his skin crawled. Chris was listening to him intently, searching for any hesitance or uncertainty. 

Stiles didn’t feel any. He trusted everyone in the room, and exploring the woods would be interesting. Maybe he could find that trail he, Scott, and Isaac were on again. He smiled, “I won’t get lost.”

“Dude, yes!” Erica bumped her shoulder into Peter’s leg. “Maybe we’ll find a deer.”

Stiles grimaced, “To chase or eat?”

“Both?” Erica shrugged.

The grimace turned into a smile. Stiles didn’t know if she was being serious or joking. He could see her doing both.

“Gross,” Isaac shook his head. 

Stiles laughed. 

Once the pizza boxes were cleaned up and the leftover slices were put away Isaac and Erica went back outside. Stiles followed, stopping on the step like he’d done earlier.

The sun was still up but it was lower in the sky, nearing evening. Stiles sighed. The day had felt like it’d gone by so fast. 

Chris stepped out behind him and Stiles caught a glimpse of flesh.

Stiles stepped into the grass, out of his way and Chris came to a stop next to him. Trying to see if Stiles had changed his mind. Stiles had no doubt he’d tell Isaac and Erica to run by themselves if he decided to stay in instead. But he wanted to go out, he liked being in the preserve. 

Stiles swallowed, trying not to stare at the muscles next to him. Isaac and Erica didn’t affect him like this, but then again he didn’t have a crush on either of them.

Chris smiled, “Ready?”

He nodded, allowing himself a glimpse as Chris shifted. His muscles rolled, constricting and expanding as he dropped down onto four paws. 

Chris’ fur was darker than Erica’s and Isaac’s and he was larger. _Alpha_ , Stiles realized. 

Chris loped over to where Erica was nipping at Isaac’s ear, trying to catch it between her teeth as he twisted and jerked away. 

Erica dropped her front half to the ground, her butt in the air, tail swishing playfully as Chris approached. He didn’t stop when he came level with them, body bumping them out of the way, he swiped his nose over Erica’s head and turned, rubbing his face against Isaac’s exposed neck. 

His eyes flared red when he looked back at the door. 

Stiles blinked, realizing he hadn’t moved. 

Peter stepped up next to him.

Stiles glanced over, immediately averting his gaze when he realized Peter was only wearing shorts. If he looked too much there would be some things happening that wouldn’t be easy to hide and he didn’t need that right now. “Are you going to shift?” he asked, dragging the toe of his shoe through the grass. 

Peter tilted his head, watching Isaac and Erica team up to try and knock Chris on his side. They weren’t succeeding. “Considering it.” He looked over at Stiles. “You don’t want company?”

“Are you planning on abandoning me in the woods?” Stiles crossed his arms playfully. 

Peter sighed. “No, but we can’t talk while we’re shifted.”

Stiles frowned. “I’m not sure if that’d be cool or horrifying if you could.” He smiled, chancing a quick glance at Peter’s face. That was a safe place to look, he decided. “I’ll keep up.” Maybe. 

Running as a pack didn’t always mean _running_ , it just meant romping in the woods with packmates. Which sounded like fun.

Peter hooked his fingers in his waistband, tugging the shorts down. “Okay.”

Stiles turned to watch Chris roll Erica onto her back. Isaac took the opportunity to pounce on his flank. Chris twisted, slipping out of the attack seamlessly.

A black furry head bumped his arm, and Stiles looked at Peter. He was the same size as Chris, but his fur was jet black. 

Damn if they didn’t all look impressive. It made him glad he’d never seen Deuc or Kali, or any of them fully shifted. The most he’d seen was Deuc beta shift. It made this special, there were no bad memories associated with this. No ringing alarm bells. Only laughter as he stepped quickly after Peter. 

Erica jerked away from Chris’ teeth, making a break for the treeline. Isaac stumbled after her, giving up the game of trying to make Chris submit to them. 

Stiles couldn’t help but smile, quickening his pace to try and catch up to them.

Chris glanced at where Isaac and Erica had vanished into the trail, then at Peter, who was staying next to Stiles. He ran down the trail after the other two. 

The trail was cast in long shadows from the lowering sun. Dried brush crunched under his shoes and Peter’s paws. Somewhere farther up the trail someone growled, quickly followed by a yip and a loud crackling of branches. 

He and Peter rounded a bend in the trail and Isaac and Erica came into view. They’d tumbled into each other, and rolled off the trail in a tangle of playful nips and bats.

Stiles’ chest tightened for a second until he reminded himself it was all in play. 

Peter pulled ahead, leaving Erica and Isaac to themselves.

Stiles ran faster, trying to keep up. His lungs were already burning, and his breath was ragged. He wouldn’t be able to keep this pace for long. 

Just as he was about to slow to a walk and let Peter go on his own, Chris pounced from the cover of a thick bush, slamming into Peter’s side, sending them both skidding into the opposite foliage. 

Stiles came to a stop, hands resting on his knees, he chuckled. Sweat ran down his face, he wiped his shoulder against his cheek, watching as they vanished completely into a shrub.

He straightened, walking after them, shoving branches out of his way as he followed the crashing of unsuspecting plants. He’d only taken a few steps before he saw Peter laying on his side, Chris laid next to him, chin resting on Peter’s side. His tail thumped once. Chris won.

Stiles sank to the ground beside them, laying back so he was laying across Peter’s side, his head next to Chris’. 

He could hear the crunch of branches as Erica and Isaac ran close by, followed by an occasional louder crackle as one of them tackled the other. 

Chris brushed his nose against Stiles’ forehead. Stiles looked over at him. “You can keep running,” he said, still breathless. “I’m done for now.”

Peter huffed, rolling over so he was upright. Stiles settled back against him as soon as he stopped moving. 

Chris swiped his tongue across Peter’s ear affectionately. 

Stiles ran his fingers tentatively across Peter’s back, slowly growing more confident when Peter didn’t growl or pull away. He dragged his fingers deeper, until he felt the warmth of his skin. “Your fur’s soft.”

Chris’ muzzle bumped his jaw, and Stiles tilted his head back, exposing his neck. It didn’t make him feel vulnerable like when Deuc tried to make him do it. He rested his cheek against Peter’s back, his fingers stilling as Chris rubbed his face against his neck. Stiles closed his eyes. It felt nice. 

Chris pulled back, leaving his skin exposed to the cool air. Stiles opened his eyes, a small smile twisting across his face.

Peter turned his head until he could bump his own nose against Stiles’ forehead and the smile turned into a chuckle. “Jealous?” Stiles let his eyes close again, feeling the movement of Peter breathing beneath him. He could feel Peter’s warm breath against his cheek and he let it ground him.

Chris stood and shook the dirt from his fur, striding around them to lay next to Stiles’ legs, resting his head on Stiles’ thigh so he could see both of them. 

Stiles placed his hand along Chris’ back, then hesitated. “Is this okay?”

Chris snorted, lifting his head to bump Stiles’ arm. Yes.

He ran his fingers through his fir, up his spine and down again, feeling the soft texture and the solid muscles beneath it. Who knew wolves were soft? He chuckled, emotionally soft as well. 

Chris tilted his head as he tried to figure out what was funny.

Stiles shook his head. The feelings in his chest swelled. He was fucked. He stopped, resting his hand along Chris’ spine, staring at where his fingers vanished into fur. He didn’t _want_ feelings toward him, either of them. But he already did. He cared about them. And that wasn’t good. They were _happy _together, he wasn’t going to split them up.__

__Chris’ head tilted the other direction, ears pricked._ _

__Stiles smiled softly, heart melting at the movement as Chris tried to figure out what had made him upset._ _

__He looked up at the sky, it was turning a bright orange, and he could see scattered clouds through the cover of the trees._ _

__Peter nudged his shoulder until he turned his head, burying his face into Peter’s neck. His chest ached. Not in the familiar way panic made it hurt, this felt like heartache for something he’d never had, but felt like he’d lost anyway. Emotions were ridiculous._ _

__Chris shifted next to him, but he didn’t look up. They could probably smell all of his emotions wafting off of him. Wonderful, he thought bitterly, just what he needed._ _

__“Stiles?” Chris asked._ _

__He slowly turned his head until he could see Chris’ face._ _

__“What’s wrong?”_ _

__Stiles looked up at the sky. The branches rustled in a gentle breeze and a squirrel jumped above them, chittering as it ran from tree to tree. “Nothing. I’m just being stupid.” No, his emotions were being stupid, but they were essentially him, and he was letting himself fall farther for them._ _

__“I don’t believe that,” Chris frowned, eyes full of concern._ _

__Stiles grinned, but the humor wasn’t there. They could smell the arousal earlier, and the _want_. There wasn’t really any way to hide it other than denial, and what was the point if they knew anyway? The worst they could do was tell him to leave, he supposed. _ _

__He sat up, tucking his foot beneath him so he wouldn’t topple over. He picked a twig up off the ground, suddenly finding it fascinating as he picked the bark off with his fingernail._ _

__Peter lifted his head at the prolonged silence._ _

__“I like you,” Stiles said, flicking a piece of the back to the ground._ _

__“I like you, too,” Chris said._ _

__Stiles lifted his gaze to his. “Not like that, gods.” He ran a hand over his face, feeling it flush. Of course Chris _liked_ him, they didn’t hate each other. He took a shuddering breath. He could tell Deuc where to shove it in explicit detail, but he couldn’t just say this. “I don’t want to make things awkward. You and Peter are happy.” He smiled weakly and peeled off a long layer of bark. _ _

__“What if I told you I have feelings for you, too?” Chris asked slowly._ _

__Stiles’ head shot up, taking in the dead serious expression on Chris’ face. He didn’t look like he was joking. His heart jumped up to his throat. “But,” he turned and looked at Peter._ _

__“We aren’t exclusive,” Chris explained. “We actually spoke about this last night.”_ _

__Stiles gaped. “Really?”_ _

__Peter bumped Stiles’ shoulder with his head, gazing up at him intently._ _

__Chris smiled._ _

__Stiles’ head spun. They actually had feelings for him as well? Well, Chris did at least. He wasn’t speaking for Peter. Which was fine._ _

__He dug his fingernail into the wood until the twig snapped in two._ _

__“We don’t have to do anything,” Chris said, quickly. “Things can go back to how they were before. I just wanted to let you know the feelings were on both sides.”_ _

__Stiles didn’t know if he should shake his head or nod. This was not where he expected the conversation to go. “I’ve never been in a relationship before,” he admitted. “Does anything change?” Is that even what they were doing? He spun the broken twig between his fingers anxiously._ _

__“Not if you don’t want it to,” Chris assured._ _

__“Peter?” Stiles hesitantly glanced at him. Chris was doing most of the talking. “What are your thoughts?”_ _

__Peter shifted until he sat next to him, human legs stretched out in front of him. “I would like to see where this goes, yes. But I want to know if this is something _you_ want.”_ _

__“And if I say I do?” Stiles licked his lips._ _

__Peter’s gaze tracked the movement. “Then we’ll see what happens.”_ _

__“I want to see where this goes,” Stiles said._ _

__Chris smiled, and Peter nodded, “Okay.”_ _

__Chris reached out, holding a hand up, “May I?”_ _

__Stiles leaned toward him, and Chris cupped his face, running his thumb along his cheek. His face was close and Stiles stared back into his eyes._ _

__Chris pulled him into a hug, loose enough that he could pull away if he wanted. Stiles didn’t. Chris pressed his lips against Stiles’ temple, breathing in his scent. It wasn’t quite a kiss, and Stiles couldn’t help but wonder if a kiss would feel different._ _

__When Chris pulled away, Stiles’ heart was pounding in anticipation, he watched him lean back, sitting on his heels._ _

__“Can I kiss you?” Stiles asked. They were still close, and Peter inched closer to both of them._ _

__Chris smiled, “Of course.” He leaned in slowly._ _

__Stiles parted his lips, not knowing what to expect. Should he have expressed what kind of kiss? He’d seen Kali and Deuc go at it with tongue. Was he ready for that? Were Chris and Peter ready for that?_ _

__Chris caught Stiles’ bottom lip between his own, and pulled away slowly. The ache for more _hurt_. Chris pressed his forehead to his, still smiling. “Still okay?”_ _

__Stiles nodded, he didn’t trust himself to speak. He turned to Peter, gaze searching his face. Something in Peter’s expression crumbled and Chris chuckled. Stiles swore Chris muttered “didn’t last long” before Peter leaned forward, capturing Stiles’ lip like Chris had done._ _

__Peter’s lips felt firmer than Chris’, and he brought his hand up to cup his face, gently pulling him closer. Stiles painted when he pulled away. Chris knelt at his back, Peter at his front._ _

__He rested his head on Peter’s shoulder. “Thank you.”_ _

__

__The walk back to the house was a blur. The forest was dark now, the sun low on the horizon. Stiles rested a hand between Chris’ shoulder blades as they walked. Peter on his other side._ _

__Isaac looked out through the back door as they approached._ _

__Stiles could see Erica moving around in the living room, dragging every pillow and blanket downstairs to create a nest in the living room._ _

__Isaac opened the door for them._ _

__Stiles walked straight to the pile of blankets, falling on his face, smiling._ _

__Erica stretched out next to him and Chris laid on his other side. He draped an arm around him, listening to the movie Isaac turned on as he closed his eyes._ _


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! What a week. A tornado came through close to where I live (no injuries or damage on my end but I know some who were affected), my roommate and I got a puppy, and it feels like so much longer than a week since I posted last. Thank you all for your patience. 
> 
> Once again this is not Beta'd and warnings at the bottom of the chapter.

Erica had gotten up early and left for work, muttering a soft goodbye. Stiles had been awake enough to hear her, but not coherent enough to respond. 

Stiles spun the bracelet on his wrist anxiously all through breakfast until he finally set his fork down and asked Isaac if he wanted to go on a hike later. 

He’d agreed quickly and darted off to get dressed. That was how Stiles found himself walking along the trail in the woods, Isaac a couple steps behind him. 

Stiles chewed on his bottom lip as they walked. He followed the trail toward the stone path that crossed the creek. He was pretty sure that’s where he remembered playing with Scott and Isaac. 

“How long have you lived here?” Stiles asked, gently touching a black berry bush that had started flowering. 

“All my life.” Isaac shrugged. A worried frown pinched his forehead, but he didn’t ask why Stiles was asking.

Stiles nodded. The answer was vague, and it probably seemed like an off the wall question. But if he knew Isaac _before_ , that meant he knew he was human. He would definitely know if they had been close. There wasn’t a way he couldn’t know.

The trail dumped them along the creek. Large, flat, rocks jutted out and through the shallow water, the uneven surfaces casting long shadowed reflections in front of them.

Stiles stopped by the edge of the water and took a break. The soft trickle of the water was soothing. He watched Isaac hesitate behind him in the reflection, then take a step closer.

Isaac didn't look familiar but the tingles were there, and it was him in the memories. 

Stiles thumbed the edge of the bracelet. “Don’t freak out?”

Isaac stiffened. “That’s a bit ominous.” He forced a smile, “I’ll do my best?”

A squirrel ran over head, Stiles tipped his head back to watch it. “I think I know you.” He placed a hand on the back of his neck. “I s-saw you and Scott, we were playing by those rocks.” He tipped his head forward, looking pointedly toward the rocks in the water. 

Isaac followed his gaze and nodded slowly, the hesitance on his face made Stiles’ heart skip a beat in anticipation, then he smiled softly. “We were friends.”

Stiles swallowed dryly. “You know?”

“Know what?” Isaac frowned.

A cold sweat broke out across Stiles’ face, his grip tightened on the bracelet. 

Isaac’s gaze followed the movement. He shook his head sadly. “Whatever your captors told you, it was all lies. You were happy here.”

Stiles dug his nails into his skin. They were friends. If Isaac knew he was human, that was okay. They had been _friends_. 

“You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you.”

He swallowed, focusing on the pain from his nails. “What do you know about me?” He focused on where the ground dipped into the water, counting each stone that was protruding from the mud while he waited for Isaac to answer. 

Isaac hesitated again, opening his mouth once before shutting it. He held his hands out, palm up in a helpless gesture. “You went by Mischief, your real name was Polish. You lived in a cabin on the preserve with your parents, Claudia and John.”

Stiles’ neck throbbed. The man from the garden laughed in his memory. 

Silence dragged between them and Isaac shifted uncomfortably. “I can take you to the cabin if you want?”

Stiles nodded, trying to ignore the flashes around the edges of his vision. 

“Okay,” Isaac said carefully, watching him like he thought Stiles was going to break, or panic. He stepped around him, onto the large rocks to cross the creek. 

Stiles followed. His mind felt sluggish, half a step behind his body. “How long were we friends?” He asked softly, kicking a stray stick off the path. 

“A long time.” A sad smile crossed Isaac’s face. “You were my first friend. We were probably four when we met. Claudia would take you to the creek to play, that’s where I met you. She would watch both of us while we played.” He turned to glance at Stiles as he ducked under a low hanging branch.

Stiles followed him under it. “You went to the creek alone that young?”

Isaac gave a jerky nod. “Camden had left by that point, it was easy to slip past my father when he was distracted with finding him.” He frowned. “You don’t remember any of this?”

Stiles shook his head, but didn’t elaborate. “How long have you known who I was?”

“I thought I recognized you the first time we met.” Isaac winced. “But I second guessed myself and Peter figured it out later.”

“ _What_?” Stiles balked, jerking back. They _all_ knew?

Isaac’s eyes widened. He hadn’t meant to say anything. “Chris and Peter, they’re good people, I promise. They’ll never hurt you.”

Stiles ran his fingers through his hair and tugged.

“They were waiting for you to tell them first.”

“How long have they known?”

“Stiles-”

“ _How long_?” He looked up, heart in his throat. Isaac didn’t understand how dangerous it was for them to be involved. Deuc and Kali would tear them all to shreds. 

“Not long.” Isaac shook his head.

“They know I’m human?” The words were barely audible, even to Stiles, but Isaac heard him.

“Yes.”

Stiles turned away, facing the direction they’d come from. He was fucked. They were fucked. He was scared, and he didn’t know what from. Because they knew his past? Because they were in danger? Because _he’d_ put them in danger by staying?

“Humans are protected--”

“I was _not_ protected,” Stiles spat, turning back to face him. 

Isaac took a step back, face falling. “No, you weren’t.”

Stiles took a break, forcing himself to breathe. Now what? This wasn’t part of his plan to get to New York. To get away. 

“Do you want to go home? Or I can call Chris or Peter?” Isaac glanced around the trees, lost as to how to help. His gaze finally fell at Stiles’ feet. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Stiles shook his head. A cold, hollow, feeling entered his chest. He needed to talk to them when they got home. Or, he thought, he could go on in denial. If they were waiting for him to bring it up maybe he could pretend this conversation never happened. He ran his hands through his hair and down over his face with a slow sigh. “Please take me to the cabin.”

It wasn’t his house, not anymore. But he wanted to see it. 

He rubbed at the back of his neck, if nothing else, hopefully it would make the tingling subside. 

Isaac hung his head but nodded. “It’s this way.”

Stiles followed. 

After a couple turns he was officially in a part of the preserve he hadn’t explored before. They passed a bench swing hanging from a particularly large tree. 

He could hear childish laughter and the pitter patter from small feet as children ran around the swing. It swung back and forth in the wind, but he could see one of the children jumping onto the bench, landing on their knees, and sending the swing into motion. They metal chains holding it up creaked under the sudden movement and the child tossed their head back in laughter.

They kept walking. Past a deer feeder and an irrationally mean turkey. Isaac growled at it until it turned to strut into the bushes.

The house slowly came into view. First it was just glimpses of wooden planks and panes of glass through the tree trunks. Then the trees cleared enough for him to see the porch. 

The front of the house wasn’t wide, but he knew it was deep. He couldn't see the otherside, but walking from the front door straight through the hall, into the laundry room, and out the back door felt like the longest walk ever.

“This is it,” Isaac said softly, coming to a halt as he emerged from the treeline.

Stiles kept walking. He didn’t say anything as he looked around.

Marigolds and garlic surrounded an overgrown garden. The man in his memory laughed as Stiles shoved sprouting bulbs of garlic into the ground. His movements were uncoordinated from youth, half the bulbs were too deep, most of the others, not deep enough. The man patiently fixed them when he wasn’t looking. 

Stiles’ hand went to his jacket pocket. He’d filed the lock pick set down days after he’d gotten it at the store. He hadn’t had anything to practice on since Peter asked him not to pick any of the locks in the house and had given him a set of spare keys. But this was as good of a place as any to give it a shot.

He stepped onto the front porch. The smell of cedar filled his nose, bringing up a small bubble of happiness. He felt strong arms wrap around him, and his dad kissed the top of his head.

He gripped the doorknob, just in case it was unlocked. It wasn’t. 

Isaac took a step toward him as he knelt in front of the door, his mouth half open to say something. Whatever it was died on his lips as Stiles inserted his tools and the lock clicked open. 

Isaac’s gaze widened slightly in surprise. “There is a spare key, just so you know.”

Stiles shrugged, pushing the door open. 

The living room sat off to his right, the kitchen to his left, and a kitchen island between them as a divider. 

He, Isaac, and Scott had piled on the floor in a heap of blankets, various games around them on the floor, and stack of comic books were piled next to the wall, out of the danger zone of greasy fingers and rouge limbs. 

He turned to look at the kitchen. He could feel himself sitting on the kitchen island, drumming his heels against the lower cabinets as his dad washed something in the sink. He gazed over his shoulder out the window, across the garden and lawn to the trees. 

Scott was poking his head out from behind one of the tree trunks, smiling. 

Stiles had smiled back. He wanted to go play, not cook inside. It was too nice a day for that. Besides, they needed to find Isaac.

“Be careful,” his dad had said. His hands were wet and covered in _something_ , if they’d been clean he would have given him a hug goodbye. 

Instead Stiles jumped off the counter, calling over his shoulder, “I will.”

Stiles braced himself against the counter, feeling the corners of it dig into his palms. “What happened, Isaac?” He glanced back to where Isaac still stood by the door. “Your dad came and got you when we were at the creek. Then you were gone.”

He and Scott had searched all over the preserve. Scott used his wolf senses while Stiles cleared the way through the brush. 

Isaac grimaced. “Dad told everyone I went to live with my brother, Camden. But he really had me locked in the house.”

“We were looking for you,” Stiles frowned.

Isaac nodded. “Scott told me later, said you both tore up the town, checked all of our usual spots. Then he said one day you went alone and never came back.”

“He was grounded for not turning in a school project.” Stiles could see himself leaving the house without Scott, usually they looked for Isaac together. He wasn’t supposed to be out that day either. He was supposed to stay with a member of the pack when he went out, even if it was just Scott. But there was one spot they hadn’t checked yet and he wanted to look.

One of Cora’s books said something about a castle below the nementon, it was a bedtime story, and it spoke about rooms upon rooms of an undiscovered castle. And in Stiles’ hopeful imagination, it was the perfect place to hide. Since none of them had ever _looked_ for this magical place, it was possible it really existed. He imagined finding Isaac curled up in a nice chair in a large library, safe and happy. 

It was dark by the time he’d finished searching the base of the tree. There wasn’t a hidden door, or room, or even a tunnel. Only solid ground and a vast uneasy surface of roots. Instead of following the deer trails home in disappointment, he opted to go out to the main road and follow it back to the house. There was less of a possibility of him getting lost that way.

A black Subaru pulled up next to him as he neared the entrance to the long driveway. A woman unrolled the window, leaning out to ask him a question. She spoke softly and he had to step closer to hear her. There was a hand around his neck and darkness as he was thrown into a trunk.

“We thought you were kidnapped and killed,” Isaac admitted, his words dragged Stiles back to the present. “But then you let me out of the freezer.”

The old house he’d remembered before came back. The sparkling in his vision expanded. He could see the house. Theo and Alpha Lahey were talking in the grass, Stiles was supposed to stay by the trees. He watched as the speaking escalated to snarls and growls. They were on the far end of the Lahey property. The farthest point from the Hales. 

Stiles was still deemed a runner by the Blackburn pack, and couldn’t be left unsupervised at home in case he ran. He inched away from Theo and Lahey as they began to shift. A twig snapped under his foot and neither looked in his direction. He ran. Dodging between trees, he sprinted toward the Lahey house, he could get back home from there. 

All he needed to do was find one person other than Alpha Lahey to help him. 

Behind him Alpha Lahey yelped, quickly followed by a sickening squelch. He’d never make it to the Hale house if Theo ran after him. He was _fast_ even for a wolf. He shoved his way through the front door of the Lahey house, stumbling over broken pieces of furniture. 

The house was dark and the front door hung only by one hinge. If he cut himself on the clutter Theo would know he was in there for sure. 

He squinted, stepping lightly around the mangled couch, opening every door and cabinet he came to, looking for a good place to hide. 

When he saw the oversized freezer chest with a lock on it, and he almost passed it by. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. It sat against the wall in what he could only assume was Isaac’s old room. Worn posters of superheroes were posted on the wall, each peeling off and torn. 

A soft thump came from within, and he stepped into the room. Broken toys and food wrappers littered the floor, one of the wrappers crinkled under his foot and he froze, ears straining to hear any signs of Theo’s approach.

Something inside the freezer thumped again. 

He pulled his makeshift lock pick set from his pocket. It was shoddy at best, but so was the lock. It popped open and Stiles stilled again, listening for the inevitable footsteps.

Slowly, he opened the freezer door. 

Isaac blinked up at him. He had his knees drawn to his chest, cheek resting against them. He lifted his head, blinking up at him, lips blue from the cold. 

Stiles jerked back, stepping around the freezer, he yanked the power cord from the wall. The steady whirling of the machine died, leaving only a ringing silence. 

Isaac tipped forward toward the door, hand slowly rising to catch himself. 

The front door creaked.

It could have been nothing. But Stiles knew better. He squatted in front of the door so he and Isaac were eye to eye. “Stay here,” he whispered. “I’ll be back.” He grabbed a piece of wood, propping the door open half an inch so it wouldn’t seal again. 

“Oh, Stiles,” Theo purred. “What have you done?”

His heart leapt to his throat. He knew he was caught. He glanced once at the freezer and straightened his back, if Theo came into Isaac’s room he’d know Isaac was here for sure. So he walked out into the hallway, back toward the living room, away from his friend.

Theo looked started when Stiles came into view, facing him, a slow smile curled across his lips. “What have you done?” he repeated.

Stiles glowered. “I haven’t done shit.” Theo hated it when Stiles cursed at him, and anger was a good distraction for any wolf. 

The whole front of Theo’s shirt was covered in blood, and thick tracklines dripped down his chin from where he’d taken a bite out of Lahey. “Oh, but you tried.”

Theo lunged forward, claws slicing out to grab him. They sank through the fabric of his shirt and into his skin, yanking him forward through the air so Theo was holding him up on his tiptoes and off balance. 

“You’ve been bad, Stiles.” 

His heart raced. Theo lifted him up, slinging him over his shoulder as he turned to leave the house. 

Stiles pounded his fists against Theo’s back, he lifted his torso up, twisting sideways until he landed an elbow against Theo’s ear. A large hand came in painful contact with his head and Stiles slumped forward, dazed and ears ringing. 

Blood on Theo’s clothes from his fight smeared onto Stiles’ cheek as he bounced off Theo’s back with each step. 

They walked outside, and back across the grass from where he’d come. The car was parked along the street in the distance. Stiles couldn’t see it from the angle he was at, but that’s where they’d left it. 

His stomach heaved when they passed Alpha Lahey. The body, torn nearly in half, laid sprawled next to his heart. 

“He ran.” Theo threw him into the back seat of the car. 

He landed in a heap of limbs in Kali’s lap. She’d been there to talk to Alpha Hale, a distraction while Theo took care of Alpha Lahey. 

“Take care of your _pet_.”

Kali’s grip tightened around him, pinning him in place as he tried to struggle away. He twisted, wedging his feet between them. Her claws sunk into the marks Theo had made earlier and he hissed with pain, going still.

He glanced up at her in time to see her lips pull back in a snarl. One hand released him, coming to rest on the back of his neck. “He won’t run again. Will you?” Her tone was sickeningly sweet. Stiles’ stomach rolled in terror. Pain lanced through his brain light lightning, and he vomited. 

“I’m calling Chris.”

“No,” Stiles gasped, hand reaching out blindly to stop Isaac. The movement didn’t reach him, but Isaac stilled, watching him carefully. “Please, no. I’m fine.” His heart pounded painfully in his chest, his head still ached and he could taste the bile on his tongue, but he hadn’t actually been sick. It was just a memory. 

“Stiles.” His name was a whine of fear.

“I’m okay,” he breathed, tilting his head back to open up his airway. “I’m ready to go home, I think.”

Isaac nodded, holding out a hand for him to take to steady himself. They left the house, Stiles leaning into Isaac’s hold whenever his knees shook a little too hard.

He was still trembling when they made it to the back door.

“Peter’s not home,” Isaac said, glancing up at the windows as they approached. “Chris is upstairs, if you want me to get him?”

Stiles shook his head. He was exhausted, all he wanted to do was collapse in his bed and not move until he was finished processing the memories that had flooded back. “I’m going to lay down.” He slid open the back door, stepping inside. 

He climbed the stairs on autopilot leaving Isaac downstairs, his hand trailed the handrail with each step. He imagined it leaving a colored scent trail behind him.

His bed was unmade when he fell onto his stomach on top of the blankets. He stared blankly across the room to where the flowers sat on his dresser. They were in full bloom now and the bright colors were captivating.

He rolled onto his side, pressing his cheek against the cool pillow. He wondered vaguely if Chris and Isaac were talking. If Isaac was telling him about going to the cabin. If Isaac was going to stay longer or leave.

His eyes slid closed. The pounding in his head was so intense he almost didn’t notice the gentle knock on the door. He cracked his eyes.

Chris stood in the doorway, a soft frown on his face. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

Maybe he and Isaac hadn’t spoken, or maybe they had and he just wanted to hear what Stiles had to say. He closed his eyes again. “My head hurts.”

“Want me to help?”

He nodded slightly, the pain drain thing would make his head feel better, and maybe then he’d be able to think more clearly. 

He didn’t hear Chris cross the room, but the bed dipped next to him. A warm hand cupped his face and he leaned into the touch. The pain faded almost instantly, quickly replaced by the floaty sensation he’d felt before. 

“Thank you.” Stiles opened his eyes, gazing up at him.

Chris smiled. “No problem.”

Stiles bit his bottom lip, pushing himself up so he was sitting with his back against the headboard. “You know.”

The smile fell from Chris’ face. “I know a few things. What are you referring to?”

Stiles swallowed, lip darting out to wet his lips. “I saw the cabin in the preserve. I know I used to live here. I remembered.” He grabbed a handful of the comforter, worrying the material between his fingers and picking at where the fabric had begun to pill. 

“I do know that,” Chris admitted.

“You didn’t say anything.” Stiles set the piece of fabric next to his leg, the beginning of a small pile. 

“It was your story to tell.”

He pressed his lips together, teeth sinking into the insides of his cheeks. “I thought the Hales might have been the ones who sold me to Kali.” Chris stiffened but Stiles continued, “I know they didn’t.” He picked another ball off the blanket. “Peter knows, too?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, tipping forward so he was leaning against Chris’ chest. Chris wrapped his arms around him in a hug. They knew, and it wasn’t the end of the world. They weren’t going to hold him hostage, or claw him. Everything was going to be okay.

Chris shifted so he was also leaning against the headboard, with Stiles tucked up against his side. 

Stiles shifted his hand from picking at the blanket to holding Chris’. He still felt emotionally exhausted, but there was also a weight that was lifted from his chest. He knew what happened, how he’d been taken. And he knew he was safe. 

Curled on the bed together was how Peter found them a little while later. “What happened here?” he asked. His tone was forcefully light and Stiles could see he was also concerned. He briefly wondered which scents Peter had picked up on first when he’d come into the house. That’d be an interesting conversation another time, which scents were stronger.

Stiles held his arm out for Peter to join them on the bed. “Talk later?” His words slurred slightly and Peter stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

Chris inched himself and Stiles closer to the wall, so Peter could sit on his other side, close to the edge of the bed.

He held Chris’ hand and rested his head on Peter’s shoulder. 

“Alright.” Peter’s lips brushed the top of his head and Stiles smiled, tilting his head back to look at him. 

“Was that a kiss or scenting?”

“Would you like a kiss?” Peter asked. He rested his forehead on Stiles’.

“Yes, please.”

Peter smiled but stayed where he was, waiting for Stiles to move first. “Okay.”

Stiles tilted his head, leaning forward until their lips brushed against each other. It felt different than when Peter kissed him. He was in control now. 

Peter closed his eyes, allowing Stiles to decide when to pull back. When he did, he was breathing heavier. He turned, head tilting back so he could see Chris. He traced the shape of his lips with his gaze and slowly the lips began to pull up into a smile. 

Chris leaned forward, and Stiles kissed him, capturing his lips between his own. 

Chris tipped backwards and Stiles fell on top of him, hands coming up automatically to rest against his chest. He could feel his muscles beneath the shirt, could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath in anticipation, and yet he waited, just like Peter had, allowing Stiles to dictate what happened next. 

Peter’s lips grazed Stiles’ ear as he leaned over both of them, capturing Chris’ mouth with his own. 

Chris’ chest rumbled and Stiles saw the exchange of tongue and teeth. Chris nipped at Peter’s lower lip, hands coming up to grab his shirt and pull him closer.

The bed creaked ominously and they all froze. 

Peter’s head fell forward with a chuckle. “I think we should stop if we don’t want the bed to break.”

Chris huffed and Stiles smiled. “That’s probably a good idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Warnings for blood and gore***


End file.
